


His Otherworldly Highness

by WhyHelloThereExtras



Series: His Otherworldiness [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, America Being an Idiot (Hetalia), America is a Dork (Hetalia), America/England Feels (Hetalia), Angst, Body Swap, Cardtalia, Cardverse, Denial of Feelings, Domestic Fluff, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic England (Hetalia), Making Out, Men Crying, Minor Relationships, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Transported to another world, cheating with your spouse's alt self, cheating?, idk if alt bodies count but to be safe, king of spades america, queen of spades england
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyHelloThereExtras/pseuds/WhyHelloThereExtras
Summary: A fearless act America thought would save England results in America waking up in another world - a world where the King and Queen of Spades, Alfred and Arthur, are so terribly in love. But that's for Alfred and Arthur, and America is not Alfred.It appears there may have been a mix-up.--Part I of II of His Otherworldiness--Weekly updates. :] (!!ALSO DEPENDS ON IRL WORKLOAD!!)
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Series: His Otherworldiness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175588
Comments: 16
Kudos: 55





	1. Terribly Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of Hetalia coming back, I've decided it'd be fun to write something quite indulgent. I've always loved the Cardverse AU, and I've been itching to write something. So, here we go! Enjoy. :) 
> 
> Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America wakes up in an unfamiliar room after a soiled attempt at being the hero.

America couldn’t help but be nosy. After all, it wasn’t all the time that he would have the serendipitous pleasure of being invited (or inviting himself over, rather) to England’s house whilst England was having one of those ‘magic’ meetings with Norway and Romania. America knew their whole Magic Trio schtick was complete bullshit and that it was simply some dumb excuse for a bunch of nerds to gather and play some good old Dungeouns & Dragons; but America did remember stumbling upon England practicing what looked to be ‘genuine’ magic (whatever that was in America’s mind). Never mind that England would be in an ugly mood after telling America incessantly to stay put in the kitchen until their gathering was over. America could handle it. Besides, when _wasn’t_ England in a foul mood?

America was right outside the wooden door that led right into England’s ‘magic’ lair. Yeah, that’s right. America figured out that they weren’t, in fact, holding a masquerade party in there. It took him a couple of years to realise that it was all just a ruse to get America away, but England and his little band of cultists should have known that nothing would go unnoticed by the hero forever. England was never truly bothered with America invading this particular space, really, so long as he was only a foot into it at most (not that America wanted to be there, anyways). What England definitely disliked, however, was to be interrupted during one of his...well, America guessed England was probably sacrificing virgins or something obscene like that. 

Still, the nothingness coming from the other side of the door rubbed America the wrong way, because if they were playing D&D like he had suspected, then there would definitely be some sort of narration, laughter, talking - anything. But it was silent, eerily so. Something didn’t feel right, and America decided that it would probably be best for him to just leave. Maybe they weren’t even there in the first place--

Then America felt the back of his hairs rise as soon as he turned his back to the door. America then heard England speaking, or...perhaps it was Romania. Norway? Though the words were slightly muffled by the door separating America from the so-called magicians, he was certain that what was being uttered was not English. And yet, America was certain that the voice was definitely England’s. It had this sort of lilt to it that America had grown very accustomed to all these years of being rather close to England. This was undoubtedly England speaking - speaking in a strange language that did not sound Romanian or Norwegian. But it sounded... _natural_ to England, like a second language of sorts. America looked over his shoulder upon hearing these thudding and rattling sounds coming from the door as England’s incantation grew louder and more fierce, an otherworldly warmth emanating from the behind him, shooting this strange, almost tingly sensation down his spine and to the tips of his fingers and toes. It didn’t hurt, per se, but it was definitely uncomfortable - a warmth that wasn’t physical, but seemed to be inside him. Like in his soul _._

To say that what America saw didn’t terrify him at all would be a lie. And to say that he didn’t let out an embarrassing, unmanly sound would be an even bigger lie. The gap around the door was glowing this unearthly blue colour, and that tingly sensation felt even stranger now that he was fully facing it. The door looked like it was about to burst any time, like there was a pressure building up from inside the room. “I’ll be damned.” America whispered to himself, truly. America was enchanted yet horrified all at once because _holy shit he’s actually experiencing real magic_! Nonetheless, that horrible feeling of wanting to shit his pants was much stronger than his urge to stay and have a look inside. America probably should have listened to England for once and stayed away in the first place.

America took a step back, ready to make a run for it, when England’s voice broke out into one of severe pain. But he never stopped speaking. Yelling, rather. America’s heart raced even faster than before, and the feeling of dread only worsened when Romania and Norway’s desperate cries for England came.

 _“This is dangerous, England!”_ America heard Norway yell amidst the chaos. The ground was shaking now, nearly tipping America off-balance. _“Stop it now!”_ This was the most emotion America had ever heard from Norway.

Romania suddenly let out a howl of pain. _“La naiba! I-I can’t stop him! It’s too powerful - he...he needs to release it! England, release it now! Please! This could_ kill _you!”_

America didn’t need to hear anymore, that ‘k’ word acting like a trigger the way it would for a faithful guard dog. America barged into the room as he pushed aside any fear obstructing him from getting in there and saving England in any way he possibly could. The sight was even worse than it looked from outside, a powerful blue light momentarily blinding him as he wearily attempted to shield his eyes from the light source. America was certain, however, that he caught sight of England floating in thin air with his head only two or three inches from the ceiling, unruly hair floating in different directions and eyes and tears glowing an eerie white, his face twisted in immense pain. Floating between England’s hands was a glowing blue basketball-sized energy orb - the source of the strange blue light and this powerful force that nearly made America tumble. The incantation didn't stop.

“England!” America cried out, barely being able to open his eyes, but when he was adjusted to the brightness enough to see again, he was sure the orb had become twice its initial size. America heard Norway and Romania make a sound of protest, begging him to stay back.

But it was all too late. With a final cry England fell to the ground, and the orb shot straight into America’s chest.

* * *

America’s eyes all but snapped open. He groaned as he tightly screwed his eyes shut, the bright light from both the chandelier and what he assumed was from the windows making his head throb even more than it already had been. America sharply sucked in a breath through clenched teeth when he attempted to roll onto his side on the bed he was laying in, his muscles aching all over, but particularly bad across his chest. “Fuck,” he whispered with a wince, lifting an aching arm over his eyes to shield them from the bright light. His left arm by the edge of the bed felt too heavy to move.

America scanned the room to the best of his ability, squinting at his surroundings as the realisation that he did not have his glasses on hit him. But he could tell, nonetheless, that this was definitely not his house, and although he remembered that he had been at England’s, this was not like any room in any of his houses either. In spite of everything being far too blurry for America to fully recognise, America could see the abundance of dark blue elements in the otherwise white, spacious room. There were many brown things, too, America noted, complementing the blobs of blue and little traces of gold that he guessed served as accents.

And then America noticed the man sat by the bed who seemed to have fallen asleep on his arm. One of the man’s hands tightly gripped the fabric of America’s shirt near his shoulder while the other was loosely intertwined with America’s fingers. The man’s face was turned towards America’s hand, which meant that America couldn’t see the face of this person who had entrapped his arm, but he didn’t need to see the man’s face to know who it was. _So that’s why it felt as heavy as lead_. 

America immediately recognised the mop of messy light blonde hair, which had a rather adorable small blue top hat resting atop it on the left side of his head. How it hadn’t fallen off and _why_ England was wearing it, America had to ask later, but for now he was just concerned about his whereabouts.

America awkwardly poked England’s head, the arm England had _so kindly_ used as a pillow numb from the lack of circulation. England’s head shot up instantaneously, obviously startled as he looked up at America.

America couldn’t help himself as he snorted. “Dude, you look like shit.” America remarked with a giggle, pointing at England’s face. America knew that England would have his throat, but he couldn’t help himself. England let out a choked sound, swollen red eyes filled with disbelief, relief and…

Joy?

England...wasn’t mad?

“Oh, Alfred!” 

Before America knew it, England practically flung himself at America, snaking his arms between America’s head and the fluffy pillows that had been supporting him. America made a muffled sound more out of disbelief than pain, though it truly did hurt to have a grown-ass man jump on you while your body was in ridiculous pain. But never mind that. England was hugging him. And more than that, England wasn’t scolding him for being stupid! And he didn’t make a snide comment about America’s snide comment! This had to be a dream!

America felt his skin become wet, and that was when he knew that something was terribly wrong here. “I was so worried! I...I thought I’d lose you!” England practically sobbed into the crook of America’s neck. America had no idea what to do, but what he did know was that he was uncomfortable with this sudden bout of affection, reality or not. And yet he simply lay there, unmoving, processing...whatever the hell this was. _There’s no way this is real_ , America thought, and yet he knew everything was too lucid to be unreal.

America could hear England clearly as he cried, sounds that gave America’s heart a remarkably unpleasant squeeze. America could smell the heavenly blend of earl grey tea and flowers coming off of England. America could see England’s body laying on top of his, the closest they had ever intentionally been in a long time.America could feel England’s tears on his neck, England’s flushed cheeks against his skin, England’s hot breath and soft lips as they kissed and nibbled the base of America’s throat, exactly where it felt the most pleasurable...

America panicked as blood rushed to places he certainly did not want it rushing to, and he let out an alarmed sound that caused England to pull back in a flurry, propping himself instead on the side of the bed. England looked horrified. “I’m sorry.” He said quickly, sounding broken. “It hurts, doesn’t it? I’m so sorry, love, I just...I’ve been so terribly worried, and I...I just…” England paused to lock eyes with America, biting his irresistibly red lips, and even then America could not have anticipated what would be coming next.

England suddenly pressed his lips against America’s, a little too abruptly that their teeth initially knocked into one another. America could practically taste the desperation, relief, pain and...and _love_ from England’s lips. It was so raw, so passionate, so...so...

America managed to get a hold of his senses as he gripped England’s shoulders rougher than he would have liked, pushing England back as the latter winced in pain. “What the fuck, dude?” America all but yelled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The genuine shock, hurt and confusion in England’s eyes almost made America regret pushing him away.

But that would be wrong, allowing England to touch him like that, to kiss him like that. _This_ was wrong. Something was very, very wrong here. This was no dream, but this was no reality either. Not America’s reality, anyway.

And yet, America couldn’t help but feel the heavy weight of guilt on his shoulders as England gaped at him, still confused, still hurt, still teary-eyed and very obviously still wanting to touch him. England tried opening his mouth to say something, but every time he seemed to find the words he wanted to say, he would shut his mouth instantly, like a thousand words and possible outcomes were flooding his mind all at once. America tried reaching out to hold England’s hand - _anything_ that would appease the situation - but England instead jumped off the bed, slightly stumbling backwards and swaying as if dizzy.

“I...I’m sorry.” England said, sounding absolutely broken. America felt his chest tighten. “I don’t- I just…” England shuffled backwards, clearly about to retreat.

America sat up, swinging one leg off the bed. “England, I-”

“You need to rest.” England cut off hastily, but not unkindly, and definitely not hatefully. In spite of this, England held an arm out before him defensively, clearly indicating that he wanted America to stay where he was. England offered a pathetic smile, a smile that America hated with every fibre of his being. That sorry attempt at appearing unbothered and completely devoid of pain or sorrow. It killed him every time to see his friend that way. “You must be exhausted, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Hey, come on now, England…”

“I-I’ll come back later. Glasses on the nightstand. Goodbye, Alf- ah...erm... _g-goodbye_!”

“England, wait- shit!” America groaned as his legs immediately gave in on him, clearly weakened from disuse and sore from, well, to be honest, he wasn’t sure. America was doubled over mainly due to the pain that radiated from his chest, and though England looked at him with a pained expression, like he wanted to help him, he hurried out of the room instead, leaving America to fend for himself in this unknown territory.

* * *

Arthur shut the door behind him with a slam, resisting the urge to cry again. There was no use crying for...for…

“My Queen,” Arthur turned to find Yao looking at him, yellow eyes brimming with profound concern. Arthur couldn’t blame him. As Alfred- no, as _the man in the King’s body_ unceremoniously put it, he looked like shit, which was probably true, seeing as Arthur had been crying non-stop since his King’s unconscious body was found in the enchanted forest by some kind-hearted fairies. Arthur did not know so many things could change in a week, and he spent all these days cooped up in their chambers, his beloved library and study long abandoned. “How is King Alfred fairing?” asked Yao, though the knowing look in his eyes told Arthur that he already knew something was terribly wrong.

“Well,” Arthur cleared his throat, straightened his posture and smoothed the wrinkles on his attire as if it would make him look any less pathetic, “the man’s awake.”

Yao was clearly put off by the impersonal delivery. “The man...erm, the King?” Arthur could see Yao cringe at how unintelligent he supposed he sounded, but Yao bit the urge to withdraw his confusion. Yao knew when to swallow his pride, and this was one of those moments.

“No.” Arthur croaked, helplessly letting his shoulders slump. There was no use looking presentable now. “That man is not...he’s _not_ my husband.”

Yao looked concerned, but mainly confused. And again, Arthur couldn’t blame him, and he already knew what Yao was thinking. “Are...are you suggesting he’s an adult changeling?” Arthur shrugged at Yao. “That’s impossible.” Yao mumbled more to himself than Arthur, thoughtfully putting a finger to his lips. “I did not pick up any bad energy around him. I just sensed the King had been struck by strong magic, but aside from that, nothing.”

“As did I.” Arthur frowned, clenching his fists. “But I talked to this man, he...he seemed to not know who I was.” Arthur could feel the pressure of an incoming sob bubble in his chest, but he put his whole mind and will into pushing it down for now.

Yao did not look too affected; he looked slightly relieved, even. And this aggravated Arthur greatly. Clearly Yao did not see this as too alerting, and though Arthur knew it was partially his own fault for being so vague, he wished Yao was able to understand what he truly meant, even though Arthur knew that the Jack’s wisdom did not go that far. Yao began, “It’s common for people who have undergone great trauma to have amnesia, especially under the influence of strong magic. We’ll have one of our best mages unlock his-”

“He’s not _my_ Alfred!” Arthur snapped, his voice echoing through the halls. He was anguished, he was exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Alfred and have him kiss it all better. 

But he didn’t _have_ Alfred.

Alfred Jones, that bright-eyed boy from rural Spades with a smile as radiant as the Sun.

Alfred, the King of Spades, who loved his kingdom dearly.

Alfred, Arthur’s husband, who was in love with him deeply.

There was a stranger laying on their bed.

Arthur scoffed at himself, feeling pathetic. Yao didn’t deserve his outburst. Arthur knew he had to apologise, but the look on Yao’s face assured him that his Jack understood his behaviour. Arthur sighed shakily and blinked back his tears, but to no avail. “He...he looked at me differently. He called me a different name. He...he pushed me away.” Yao held Arthur’s arm to help him maintain his balance when he stumbled backwards, feeling nauseated. “He wasn’t in love with me, Yao.”

Arthur felt his world crumble as soon as he released those thoughts of his.

Yao’s face twisted back to concern, looking the way he had when they first discovered Alfred in the woods. Yao finally understood. “You must rest, My Queen.” Was all Yao said after a bout of silence, and Arthur was inclined to agree, feeling his legs buckle beneath him. After all, Arthur had been using his own magic to speed up Alfred’s... _the man’s_ healing process. “I’ll speak with him myself.” Yao grunted, throwing Arthur’s arm around his shoulders and supporting the Queen’s torso.

“Please.” Arthur sniffed, feeling rather embarrassed with the way Yao was babying him. Under normal circumstances, Yao would be grumbling about him being too old for this, that the past monarchs had been much easier to handle than Alfred and Arthur, that the Jack had been such an honourable title back then. A part of Arthur wished Yao would grumble about it all, really, because it would make things feel more normal, would distract him from their current predicament.

Spades was without a king, and Arthur was without Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't estimated how many chapters this will be. :{ I hope you enjoyed! The first chapter tho lolsies.
> 
> La naiba! - Dammit! (Would any Romanians who happen to be reading confirm this for me? :P)


	2. 'Arthur'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America enjoys a couple of moments of tranquility, but it's quickly interrupted by a long-haired man and two guards with handcuffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, another update so soon? Where's this motivation with my schoolwork? Lmao.
> 
> I've proofread this a couple of times, but I am also terribly sleep deprived, so I'll make sure to proofread this again tomorrow just in case! This was a pretty fun chapter to write. ;)

“Holy crap!” America whispered in silent awe as he slipped his glasses on, his surroundings finally becoming clear. 

America was in a luxurious bedchamber, the ceiling at 5 metres high and the room spanning about, uh, he wasn’t sure, but he could probably fit a hundred or so mini UFOs in it. America had seen many majestic structures in all the time he’d been alive, but he was certain he had never come across such a place as this. It looked like something straight out of a fairytale, with immaculately white walls surrounding him, royal blue tapestry with golden outlines of spades flanking either side of the bed. The furniture was of dark, sturdy-looking wood with intricate patterns carved into them that ultimately resembled the symbol of, to no one’s surprise, spades. Why this certain suit was everywhere, America wasn’t sure yet, but he rather liked the aesthetic.

America used the bedpost to support himself as he stood, which also happened to be a spade. Okay, whoever owned this room must have been a gambler of sorts. A gambler with a specific inclination towards spades, that is. 

The room looked even more remarkable now that he was standing up (the pain in his body was certainly making the experience less fun, however), his feet planted on a soft, plain blue carpet just a couple inches from the cool, off-white marble flooring underneath the too-large bed. There was an even larger (surprise, surprise) spade-patterned carpet spread beneath the sofa set of a receiving area not too far from the door England had disappeared into. Across the bed stood two majestic doors of Gothic gridded glass leading out to a large balcony, deep blue curtains drawn to let the light in.

Fighting his fatigue, America scrambled to put on the brown slippers conveniently placed in front of the nightstand. Though he was certain he’d never worn anything like it before, it seemed to fit his feet snugly, almost as if it had been worn by him for quite a while now. America dragged himself over to the balcony, feeling like a toddler walking without his parents’ supervision for the first time. America felt ridiculously weak, but the sight he beheld was enough to momentarily distract him from whatever bodily pain he was feeling.

“Batman’s balls!” America gasped in disbelief, leaning over the warm marble balustrade as he gazed into the expanse before him. A garden full of flourishing flora, familiar and foreign to him, was laid out before his very eyes in a maze-like manner. In the centre of the maze seemed to be a gazebo with all sorts of flowers crawling up its posts. Birds, bees and butterflies happily danced along the flora and suckled their sweet nectar. Beyond the maze stood an acre of majestic trees, and even further from that were walls with guard posts surrounding it. And beyond that were rolling hills, fields, more forests and small villages.

It clicked in America’s mind, that he was in a castle, a _kingdom._

America laughed beneath his breath at the majesty before him, running his fingers through his hair in utter disbelief. Seriously, where was he? This didn’t seem to be Norway’s place. So that left...no, probably not. The structure of the buildings and the castle didn’t seem to be very Eastern European either. This looked to be England’s doing, but America knew that England would have shown him a place like this sooner; that man loved to brag ‘in subtlety’ and was very opportunistic in his gloating.

America spent a few moments outside, taking in the freshest air he had ever inhaled in such a terribly long time. America felt significantly better already, the warmth of everything around him soothing his senses. Where the heck was he? ‘Cause he totally knew where to take his vacation leaves now.

America heard the door open, and he looked into the room again, expecting that England had come back and calmed down already. America couldn’t exactly make out the figures in the bedroom. He could see the vague silhouettes of three men seemingly looking for him, judging by the way they appeared to be scaling the room. Hopping off of the balustrade, America stretched his arms over his head with a satisfied groan as he walked back into the room. He truly did feel a lot better already. “‘Ight, I’m just gonna say this once: there’s no way- uh, China?” America paused midway into the room, pointing at the Asian country incredulously. 

China was dressed in blue garments that didn’t look like something from the 21st century (or something he would wear casually, for that matter). “What - _pfft_ \- what’s with this get-up?” America’s shoulders shook as he suppressed his giggles. China didn’t look too amused by America’s reaction as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Actually, what was with England’s get-up from earlier, too? And - as America looked down on his clothes, a plain shirt and brown pants that were terribly outdated - what was with _his_? And what was with the two tough-looking fellas with black military caps?

Tough-looking fellas with black military caps who were _apprehending_ him, by the way.

“Wha- hey!” America struggled as the men in caps cuffed his arms behind his back, looking rather apologetic as they did so. America swore he heard the younger one whisper, _‘I’m so sorry, Your Majesty’_ , sounding truly earnest. 

Then it hit him. The orb, the floating England, the castle, China, England, the ‘guards’, the _everything._

Laughter burst from America’s chest, eliciting an exchange of confused looks from China and the men apprehending him. How dedicated of them! God, why didn’t he figure this out sooner? 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” America felt tears prick his eyes as he doubled over, the guards awkwardly bending with him. America thought he’d lose his breath from laughing, but he simply couldn’t stop - even if his chest was starting to hurt again. “No way! Don’t you - _haha!_ \- think this is a little too high-effort?”

This was the best prank England has ever pulled on him yet!

“This is so weird.” China thought loudly to himself, seemingly in deep thought as if thoroughly confused. America guffawed even louder from China’s dedication to his role, so hard he thought he would choke. This was priceless! Who woulda thought that China would make such a good actor?

“What kind of prank are you pulling now, Your Majesty?” China asked him, sounding unsure yet tired of his shenanigans all at once. It was at this point that America fell onto the floor, giggling like mad. “I’ll have you know the Queen is not amused. _I’m_ not very amused either.”

“Pfft, what? You even got the freakin’ _Queen of England_ involved?” America wheezed, coughing a bit. He briefly saw China gesture at the older guard with an upwards swiping motion. “Oh, this is priceless! England’s really outdone himself this time! Damn, how am I supposed to show this up?” America winced when the older man in a cap yanked him back up, and it actually _hurt_. “Ow, geez, chill with the grip there, Superman. Aren’t you a little too dedicated to this?” America’s amusement died down a bit as he gave China a look, cocking his head at the man.

China sighed and raised his hand at the older guard, who immediately took a step back. America grinned so hard it almost hurt. This was way too cool; he couldn’t believe how elaborate this was. “Heh, gotta hand it to you guys, you really got me there. The kissing was a little out of line, but I respect the grind.” America shook his head, barely getting down from his high. He was still panting. “So who else is in on this? Romania? Norway? Oh my god, it’d be _so funny_ if Norway actually planned the whole thing.”

America was only met with China’s silence. “Arthur was right.” Was all he said after an uncomfortable bout of silence, his face all pale and of genuine-looking horror. He frantically began fishing through a pouch he carried with him, never stopping his mumbling about how horrible this situation was, how they needed to do something really quick, how they had to find the King.

Frankly, America was getting a little annoyed at this point. 

“I get it, okay? Har-har, you got me good, hee hee, America’s such an idiot.” America mimicked England mockingly, waiting for China to break. 

But China didn’t budge at all, rapidly muttering to himself and going through his pouch. America rolled his eyes. “The jig’s up, man. Mind uncuffing me now?”

China suddenly made an ‘ah’ sound as he retrieved an even tinier velvet pouch from the bigger one, fumbling to open it before spilling some pale blue powder onto the palm of his hand. The guards took a couple of steps back from America.

“China?” America asked nervously. He didn’t like that serious expression on China’s face nor did he like the look of the suspicious powder. America was faithful to the ‘don’t do drugs’ mantra, after all. America shuffled backwards, laughing nervously. “This isn’t some sort of revenge ploy, right?”  
  
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” But China didn’t look sorry at all when he flung the powder at America’s face, causing America to flinch and stumble backwards into the hands of the men in military caps. 

The powder had a pleasant floral smell and didn’t seem to irritate America’s nose too much. What America did feel was this sudden drowsiness that hadn’t been there before, not even when he woke up. His lids felt heavy, and the rhythm of his heart began to slow. America felt somewhat peaceful, actually. His thoughts seemed distant, as if they were walking away from him, until all of them were gone but this singular thought:

_What the hell kind of prank was this?_

* * *

America could hear talking. He couldn’t understand anything, but he was positive it was talking. The conversation sounded muffled, as if he had taken a dive into mud and had water enter both his ears. Slowly, however, the sounds became clearer, more distinct, until he could hear normally again and then some, from the ticking of a timepiece to the conversation between the two people he assumed were standing over him.

_“-strange. Very strange.”_

_“I told you, didn’t I?”_

_“He acts like the King, talks like the King, but he’s not the King. And I didn’t sense any deception in his confusion. The mage didn’t sense any locked memories at all, either.”_

_“I feel like I’m going to vomit.”_

_“Hmph, he’s always been such a difficult boy, even now that he’s-”_

_“He’s waking up!”_

America stirred, feeling like he’d been asleep for centuries. He could feel that he wasn’t on a bed. Whatever he was laying down on was cushioned, at least, but the fabric that scratched his cheek felt more like upholstery than bed sheets. America tried looking through squinted eyes, thankfully having his glasses on this time around. As expected, America was met with some fancy-ass blue outfits, causing him to look up, meeting the icy glares of both England and China.

“Wow.” America winced under their hawk-like gazes as he laughed, letting his eyes flutter shut. “Give me a break, guys.”

“No, we will not, in fact, be giving you any breaks.” America heard England chastise before he was aggressively yanked up by two people for the second time that day (he assumed it was the same day, anyway, since China and England still had those ridiculous outfits on), forcing America to stand on his feet with a yelp. America hissed from the way the metal cuffs felt on his wrists, glaring at the two men who were manhandling him. They were the same guards from earlier, and America saw that the younger one still looked as apologetic as ever.

America huffed and turned back to England and China. “Seriously, you’ve won already. So give it a rest, will ya?” He glowered at England in particular, who only glared back with venomous green eyes. The _balls_ of this guy. “Don’t you think the macho dudes over here are a little too much?”

England pursed his lips, seemingly considering America’s question. He shrugged, waving his hand dismissively. “Not at all, actually.” England said flatly as he made a beeline to the desk, making himself comfortable on the throne-like seat. “In fact, you’re fortunate I’ve only called for two guards.” America scoffed at that.

“As far as we’re concerned, you’re a threat to the kingdom of Spades.” China added with narrowed eyes, flanking England’s seat. “So reveal yourself, fiend.”

“Wha- _fiend_ ? Are you shitting me right now?” America felt the urge to laugh again. “If you wanted to roleplay _that_ badly then at least give me a head’s up, Engl-”

“Stop calling me that!” England barked furiously, slamming a fist on the desk and causing America to jump a bit. It was enough to make China and guards flinch, too, their grip on America’s arms momentarily tightening. England’s chest heaved with every breath he took, his cheeks and ears an angry shade of red. He didn’t look like he was calming down any time soon.

America was, naturally, at a complete loss for words. He of all people knew that England was incredibly whiny when things didn’t go his way, but this was something else. This was genuine rage. Genuine exasperation. Genuine grief.

And then America recounted his very first moments since waking up in this spade-themed palace. He remembered the way England had been holding onto him like his life depended on it. He remembered the way England had embraced him like it was second nature. He remembered that anguished look in his eyes when America had pushed him away after...after that _kiss_ , as if not touching America was some sort of sulphurous mental and emotional hell. 

America looked at his surroundings, deciding that it was too elaborate to be a set. It was perhaps thrice as narrow as the bedroom he’d been in, but the ceiling was still high as ever. Long bookshelves spanning from floor to ceiling stood adjacent to one another, the desk and receiving area in the middle of it all. The smell of tea, dust, old paper and ink invaded America’s senses. He gathered that this was a study.

Everything was just too awfully real that he couldn’t help but wonder if he had died and entered some sort of after-life.

“Arthur…” America tested more than called. It wasn’t that America had never used England’s human name. It was just...unnatural. An alias. And yet this England - this _Arthur_ \- seemed entirely convinced that ‘Arthur’ was the name he’d carried all his life. As if he’d never even heard of England before. America licked his lips and began to speak,“I…” 

‘Arthur’ looked at him expectantly, raising his thick eyebrows at him.

But America didn’t even know what he was going to say. ‘I’ what? _‘I’m sorry’_ ? And for what, exactly? If anyone deserved an apology in this room, it was America. Seriously, what _was_ he supposed to say? _‘I don’t know what the hell’s going on’_ ? _‘I’m too sober for this’_ ? _‘I need to take a piss really bad, where’s the bathroom’_?

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” Was what rolled off his tongue instead. Yeah, no shit. America felt unlike himself saying that, but he decided that the safest route to take was the pacifist route. ‘Arthur’ quirked an eyebrow at him, anticipating further explanation. America opened his mouth again, truly meaning in his heart that he was going to apologise and that he was going to calmly explain himself. He rehearsed in his mind diplomatic ways to excuse his silly behaviour, that he never meant any disrespect, that he was a nice guy who just wanted to go back home.

“But just so we’re clear, this really isn’t a prank, right? ‘Cause I don’t wanna look like a dumbass and apologise just so you could rub it in my face.”

But _of course_ his mouth worked faster than his brain did.

‘Arthur’ buried his face in his hands and made a broken, sob-like sound. It was a very ugly sound, actually. America would’ve laughed at it under ordinary circumstances, but he had to be honest with himself - everything here was out of the ordinary. ‘Arthur’ rubbed his temples with one hand and waved his other dismissively. “Leave us.” He croaked, and the guards let go of America and did just that. 

“Wait, you forgot to uncuff- aaaand they’re gone.” America frowned at the door as it shut with a click. He shrugged. That was two of his problems gone, at least. He could finally take a seat and-

‘Arthur’ struck his desk again without looking up, catching America mid-action just as he was about to settle on the cushions. “I didn’t allow you to sit, did I?” He looked over at America with tired eyes. They weren’t red or swollen anymore, but the dark bags under his eyes looked frightfully horrendous.

“Bossy.” America grumbled underneath his breath, but obeyed anyways, ignoring China’s violent reaction to that snide comment. He dragged his feet closer to ‘Arthur’s desk, leaning over it slightly. “Listen, your, um, Arthurness. I’m just as confused as you are, honest! I just really wanna know if this is some prank gone too far or-”

“I’ll be doing the talking here.” England- ‘ _Arthur’_ hissed, somehow having the most dominating presence in the room in spite of him being the one seated. “Tell me everything that happened in the woods.”

America blinked as he looked up at the wooden ceiling, racking his brain. Nothing came to mind. “What woods?” He asked earnestly, confused.

‘Arthur’ moaned, thoroughly irritated. America guessed there was a right answer that he didn’t know about. ‘Arthur’ leaned back on his seat and twisted his head to look at China, drama in his actions. “I’m talking to a wall, I haven’t had a proper meal in days, and I have an ugly migraine. _Please_ handle the boy, Yao.”

China nodded obediently before turning to America. “We would appreciate your cooperation on this matter. If you don’t remember the occurrences in the woods, then at least tell us the events that you think led up to this moment.”

America looked at them doubtfully. He couldn’t help but feel like they were still pulling his leg...

“For what it’s worth, this isn’t some prank.” China informed upon receiving anything but an answer from America. It seemed like he had read his mind. China was definitely better at physically masking his impatience than ‘Arthur’ was, but the nastiness in his voice wasn’t any better either. “You mentioned earlier that this is a misunderstanding, and maybe it is. So explain yourself so we can handle this properly and have you leave.”

America grit his teeth, not exactly a fan of the way he was being treated. This didn’t seem fair. If they were truly not the England and China that America knew, then they were being awfully rude to a fellow victim of circumstance. What was the big deal anyway? It was almost like he killed someone.

On the other hand, maybe this really _is_ just a prank...

“This is hopeless.” ‘Arthur’ scoffed as he dragged open one of the desk’s drawers, withdrawing what seemed to be a dagger. He presented it to America. “Is this enough to convince you to cooperate?” 

“Um, what?”

Unimpressed, Arthur suddenly flung the dagger at America’s face, and just when he thought he was done for, the dagger stopped mid-air. America looked at it, holding his breath, his eyes wide with terror. His heart was thumping rapidly and hard against his chest. In the background, America caught sight of Arthur gazing intently at the dagger, eyes glowing an eerie bright green. When Arthur’s eyes returned to normal, the weapon dropped to the floor with a clatter, narrowly missing America’s feet. “Now speak, else next time around I will gladly choose not to waste my magic on saving the likes of you.” Arthur all but sneered. America could see in his eyes that he was bluffing, but after that close encounter with Death himself, he didn’t want to push anything further.

This couldn’t have been England anymore, and yet...

No, as confusing as this all was, America was terrified and positively vulnerable. He couldn’t break free from the cuffs either, which was normally not a big deal for him. America decided against being combative this time around. “I was...in England’s house.” Arthur glared at him again, and America felt irritation swell in his chest. “Not you. The...the guy I mistook you for. He looks like you, acts like you, talks like you-- just...trust me on this one, okay?” Even _he_ couldn’t believe his own anecdote, so America was a little relieved when Arthur looked less disgusted and more attentive.

“He told me to wait in the kitchen while he and his friends, Romania and Norway, went off to play D&D. I mean, at least I thought they were. But you know what? I said suck it, England, you and your little nerd group ain’t gonna be stoppin’ this trouper today!” Arthur and China looked confused but continued listening keenly, as if they believed every lick of America’s ridiculous story (not that it was untrue, of course, but even America had a hard time grasping it himself). It was admittedly pretty encouraging, having people seemingly understand something he felt was really off. 

“So I went to his magic, uh, dungeon thing. It was really quiet. Then I heard England talking gibberish or something, and I was gonna make a run for it but then...then it was warm.” America’s eyebrows knitted together as he recounted that odd sensation, which strangely still vivid, as if it lingered. “But it didn’t feel like, physically warm, y’know? It felt- okay, I know you won’t believe me for this-”

“No, go on.” Arthur urged, looking like he was analysing all of the information America was telling him.

America hesitated. “It felt kinda tingly and like it was...it was…”

“In your soul?” Arthur guessed.

“Yeah, exactly!” America gasped, lurching forward excitedly. He stopped himself when China struck a defensive position, arm shielding Arthur protectively. America didn’t mind, though. He was just grateful to have someone get him for once. “And then I turned around and saw some glowy blue stuff from inside the room. The door was going crazy and it sounded like there was a hurricane in there.” Arthur and China exchanged a worried look, but America wasn’t quite sure why.

“Did you open the door?” Arthur asked apprehensively

America nodded. “Had to. England sounded like he was getting mauled by a bear or something. Plus, I heard Romania say something like ‘if you don’t stop, you’re gonna get killed’!” 

China appeared to cringe at America’s impression of Romania, though he wasn’t sure why. To him, he sounded absolutely immaculate. “Stop what?” China said instead, sour expression never leaving his face (which, by the way, was totally uncool).

“I dunno, man, but…” America swallowed, remembering that terrifying image of England floating with his eyes all glowy. “If I had to guess, I think it had to do with the…” What was that word again? Oh, right. “the infestation.”

America saw a hint of amusement briefly flicker in Arthur’s eyes until his expression morphed back into something of irritation. “It’s an incantation, you prat.”

America grinned, feeling more at home. Maybe his prank theory was right, after all, but America chose not to push his luck just yet. “Close enough. So I barged in, ready to be the hero again, and the dude was - get this - he was _floating_. Floating and glowing! Can you guys believe that?”

Contrary to America’s expectations, the pair didn’t look too impressed. They looked bored, even.

“Then there was this, uhh, weird blue glowy ball thing floating between his hands.” America sputtered out quickly, sparing himself from further humiliation. “And then it…”

Ah, this is where the story ended, wasn’t it?

America frowned, but Arthur suddenly perched up at this part, eyes wide as he pressed, “And then what happened?”

“Then it just hit me.”

Arthur immediately sprang to his feet, slamming both hands on his desk. “I think I get it!” He announced, the wearisome look in his eyes dissipating almost completely. “Blue magic, you say?” America nodded. “By the gods, I never thought I’d hear about it in this lifetime!”

America looked to China, hoping he wasn’t the only one weirded out by Arthur’s sudden mood swing. But the man looked just as astonished as Arthur was, covering his mouth in surprise. America took a step back lest they be a bunch of nutjobs.

Arthur walked over to America, hands seemingly twitching with excitement and perhaps nervousness. Arthur was close, too close. It was as if the guy hadn’t ever heard of personal space before. America could smell him again, too, and god did he smell lovely. “I think I could be of benefit to you, erm…” He seemed to hesitate. “What can I call you?”

What was this sudden change of attitude?

 _‘I’m the US of A, baby!’_ America bit back the urge to say, instead offering a million dollar grin. “I’m America.” He answered simply, humouring the shorter man. He quite liked filling in the role of some sort of mystery man, even if this was all just some weird fantasy roleplay England wanted to carry out with him. The guy needed more friends, that was for sure.

Then Arthur nodded, smiling genuinely for the first time that day.

America couldn’t remember the last time England had smiled at him that way, and his breath hitched.

 _Beautiful_ , he wanted to say, but instead he bit his tongue, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Well then, America, I’m about to do something that may feel slightly invasive, but...but it will help the both of us greatly if you comply.” Arthur suddenly had a very pleasant personality, which made America feel like he wanted to sit down and have a talk with the man about his serious mood swings. “May I seek your consent?”

“Uh…” America looked to China again, who shrugged as if to say ‘do whatever you want’. “Knock yourself out?”

Arthur smiled even wider, looking an infinite times better than he had the first time America had encountered him. “Brilliant.” He hummed, making his way behind America.

Okay, America was a little dubious at this point. Just what the hell did he consent to? “D-don’t you think I should at least hear the-!”

America gasped as the warmth of Arthur’s soft hands brushed his skin, delicate fingers sliding from the small of his back to the area just in-between his shoulder blades. It took a little while for America to realise that Arthur had lifted his shirt, but the given situation didn’t exactly help in granting him coherent thoughts. The innocent-sounding _‘oh’_ sound Arthur made suddenly didn’t sound so innocent anymore when he pressed his palm against America’s back, lingering there for a couple of curious moments.

And just when America thought that things couldn’t get any worse, Arthur began using his finger to lightly trace something on his back - a motion so long, torturous and mindfuckingly cruel. America felt most functions of his brain shut down immediately until all he could do was pray that Arthur hadn’t noticed him shudder because _fuck_ , did that feel good. The sensation of the cuffs binding his wrists while Arthur touched his back sent America’s heart racing, and he knew that there was no way that Arthur couldn’t feel the rapid thumping in his chest.

The only thing that kept any unholy noises from escaping America’s throat was China going _‘ahem’_ , looking thoroughly disturbed.

“It’s just as I suspected.” Arthur breathed, finally taking his hands off of America’s back (who found that he could finally breathe again). “This is...it’s the King.”

America made an unintelligent sound in response to that.

China raised his eyebrows, alarmed. America could see that the man was still recovering the unwarranted show. “It-it is?” He coughed out.

There was an initial silence from Arthur’s end. “I mean, it’s not him, exactly.”

China sighed. “So we’re back to square one."

“No, listen to me. He has the marking of the Spade, the real one Alfred had.” Oh, that explained the whole touchy business Arthur did. “I, I felt the affinity, but it felt almost severed. Or at least distant. This man’s…” America assumed that Arthur had beckoned China over, as the man came to look at America’s back as well. Suddenly things felt very unsexy, even when Arthur pressed his palm against America’s back again. “This is it, you see?”  
  
China gasped softly. “You’re saying…”

Saying _what_?

“ _Yes_.”

Yes to _what_?

“But that’s...that’s impossible! They were only myths!”

 _What_ were only myths _?_

“That’s what I thought as well, and yet…”

Silence fell upon the room, and America chuckled impatiently. “You guys gonna let me in on the conversation?”

Arthur suddenly dragged America’s shirt down in one brisk movement as if he’d forgotten about him. “R-right.” He mumbled, taking slow steps to stand in front of America. “Well, you see, you-” Arthur pursed his lips as if carefully weeding his words. “In this world, there’s a lot of-” Arthur paused again, in a mental struggle. Sighing in defeat, Arthur finally looked America head on, a determined glint in his eyes.

“You’re from an alternate reality, aren’t you, America?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;o


	3. Confirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America gets confirmation on whether or not he's in another reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, a longer chapter to make up for the delay! Happy Friday, everyone. :)

America was more of a ‘touchies or it didn’t happen’ kind of guy. He wanted solid proof or an up-close and personal encounter of sorts, something tangible. He wanted to touch and feel things for himself most of the time, to confirm things, to call bullshit out with his very own fingers or at the very least with his other senses. This didn’t mean there weren’t a few exceptions to this, so long as there was some sort of scientific or logical explanation (to his standards, of course) that sounded ‘legit’ enough. He wasn’t opposed to a good conspiracy theory or two, either.   
  
But if there were no tangible proofs or scientific explanations and  _ just  _ happenings, America typically didn’t want anything to do with them -  _ at all _ (well, with the exception of a few; just like that unicorn England had gifted him, though it still gave him the heebie-jeebies). He thought it was just plain crazy and possibly (or hopefully, rather) just special effects of some sorts, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was rather terrified of things he couldn’t see. They could look like giant, eye-less baby heads for all he knew, and he didn’t like the idea of that.   
  
And yet, at this very moment, America couldn’t help but still be dubious about this whole situation _.  _ Despite all the proofs he had been provided with - from England  _ floating  _ with that crazy blue ball of energy of his and his eyes all aglow, to ‘England’ getting all mushy with him, to ‘Arthur’ thwarting his own attempt at killing him, to Arthur making America feel some type of way with those magic fingers of his - America was still not fully convinced. Despite all the brilliant men he’d encountered in his lifetime who had offered him some pretty strong points for the multiverse theory, despite his tactile interactions with this alternate reality, despite all the happenings pointing to the fact that this may truly not be his world anymore, despite the fact that Arthur was literally a version of England who seemingly wanted to touch him, kiss him, who looked at him  _ differently  _ \- despite all these things that suggested that he was out of his realm, America just had difficulty grasping that this was all real.   
  
Or perhaps America just didn’t want to accept that it wasn’t actually  _ England  _ who…   
  
Who...   
  
America pushed that thought away as he swallowed, refusing to even finish it (not that he even knew  _ what  _ he was going to finish it off with). Where the heck did that come from, anyways? England was his buddy. Maybe even less than that. Less than brothers, more than friends, maybe? He wasn’t sure (and  _ whatever _ , anyways).   
  
America decided that it was just his hunger talking, that’s all. Yeah, that made total sense. He just wasn’t thinking right because he was famished. He just had to go home and have a nice burger or two. Or twenty. He wasn’t sure yet (he hadn’t been sure of a lot of things as of late), but he wasn’t opposed to a hundred burgers, either.    
  
Oh, and whiskey would be lovely.   
  
“I’m from...alternate reality?” America finally spoke after going through some mental gymnastics (Arthur looked surprised that America had spoken at all), deciding that he could test something, at least. Something that would probably coax them into revealing themselves “Is this some Spider-man: Into the Spider-Verse stuff?”   
  
England blinked up at America. “What?”   
  
Yeah, that’s right. America’s version of a test was to name as many pop culture references as he could until Arthur couldn’t help but geek out! (America’s logic here being, of course, that if it works for him, then it would work for England.)   
  
“No cigar, huh?” America paused. “Oh! Flashpoint?”   
  
Arthur and Yao exchanged a look.   
  
“Tomorrowland? Stark Trek? The Nightmare Before Christmas? Shrek: Ever After? Peter Pan?  _ Narnia _ ?”   
  
Arthur looked even more confused as America went on. Damn, he thought he would break at Narnia. England loved the movies and even more so the actual book series, gushing about it to America non-stop when it was first published and promising to have him meet the writer, Mr. C.S. Lewis, someday (and he did, briefly, nice guy).   
  
America knew he had to activate his trump card now; something England knew he couldn’t resist, not even if he tried. If ‘Arthur’ still didn’t break, he didn’t know what would.    
  
“What about…” America paused - a dramatic period of silence that went on much longer than it should have. “Doctor Who?”   
  
“Doctor _ what  _ now?” America gasped outrageously as Arthur grit his teeth, looking like he had reached his limit. Holy crap, how did he barely even  _ flinch  _ at the mention of his beloved show? This couldn’t be normal! Not to mention, England would have never even  _ attempted _ to bastardise its name that way! (America knew this because he had asked a similar question just when it began airing back in the 60s, and England was very, very displeased.)   
  
“I’m guessing he was trying to prove something.” Yao said after Arthur turned to him, eyes begging another sane person to be in the room. “As expected, it was stupid and fruitless.” He added snidely.   
  
“Hey!” America pouted, but he inwardly knew that his test was kind of silly (keyword: kind of). But he was also way too stubborn as all hell, and he wasn’t going to back down any time and just...just sit around and  _ swallow  _ his pride. The thought made him shudder. “Excuuuse me for trying to be that sure you guys aren’t trying to make me look stupid!”   
  
“I’m not sure how else I could prove to you that this is an alternate reality, I’m afraid, but I suppose I should be  _ happy  _ that you seem to have the least notion of what it is. Besides,” Arthur smiled through gritted teeth as he settled back down into his seat, looking quite irked but clearly attempting to look civil, “I thought we moved on from the fact that this isn’t a bloody prank.”   
  
“I mean, we did, kinda, but you gotta put yourself in my shoes, dude. I mean, an alternate reality? Seriously? Eng-” America caught himself when Arthur shot him a look, emerald eyes glowing again, and the same dagger from earlier rose from the ground. America swallowed and laughed nervously. “ _ Arthur _ . I’m just sayin’, it’s gonna take a lot more than a flying knife to convince me that this is an alternate world straight out of a fairytale.”   
  
Arthur gaped at him, offended, and for a moment America thought that the blade would be lodged through his skull right there and then. “ _ Flying knife _ ? Why, you-” America shut his eyes tightly and mentally prepared himself for jumping out of the way to make a heroic escape route, but the weary huff of breath that was unmistakably Arthur’s diverted his attention. America opened his eyes upon hearing the familiar clatter of metal colliding with the ground, and he found that Arthur's eyes were back to normal. The dagger was on the floor yet again.   
  
“ _ Fine _ .” Arthur seethed as he rubbed his temples. “Name your price. What would it take, then?”   
  
America blanched, startled. He wasn’t expecting this, and judging by China- no,  _ Yao’s  _ slacked jaw, he wasn’t either. “What?” he said lamely, sounding more lost than he would have liked.   
  
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to prove this phenomenon to you.” Arthur declared, somehow sounding weary and determined all at once. America concluded that it was something close to desperation, if weaker, with a touch of defeat.   
  
“Whatever it takes?” America asked.   
  
“Your Majesty!” Yao’s interjection was instantaneous, springing up at the first movement to England’s nodding.   
  
A devious smile spread on America’s lips. “Deal! I’ll go easy on ya.” He forgot about being cuffed for a moment and nearly keeled over after attempting to outstretch his arm, intending to shake on it. He had to get out of these damn things.   
  
“Shame, I love a good challenge.” Arthur smiled, decidedly ignoring Yao’s disappointment and his scathing and not-at-all subtle ‘this is stupid as balls’ remark. “Well? Let’s hear it, then.”   
  
America's sly-looking smile transformed into one of genuine excitement as he bounced a little bit, “Make me fly over the whole kingdom!”   
  
“How childish.” Arthur mused, but America thought it was only fair (and frankly speaking, he was really excited for it, too). “To be honest, I’m a little underwhelmed. I expected something much more outrageous from the likes of you.”   
  
“I did say that I’d go easy on you.” America shrugged before smirking. “But from the way you’re acting, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that you can’t do it,  _ England _ .”   
  
“Oh please, haven’t you heard that making assumptions is making an arse out of you and me?” Arthur waved him off, appearing nonchalant but was obviously bothered from being called ‘England’ once again. “Are there any conditions?”   
  
“Nah, just no strings or anything like that. Think you can handle it?”   
  
Arthur scoffed, face twisting into a wry expression. “Too easy. I accept your  _ immensely kind _ and  _ wonderfully humble _ offer, nonetheless.” Arthur rose from his seat and pocketed something - a key, America realised quickly (and excitedly) - before turning to China. “Prepare a wind mage.”   
  
Yao looked at Arthur defiantly, scowl deepening. Despite that, he nodded anyway, bowing slowly and with jerky movements. “ _ Fine-”  _ Arthur clearing his throat made Yao stop himself. “I mean, yes, your Highness.”   
  


* * *

  
America had his fair share of flying, sometimes even jumping out of a plane without the assurance of a safe landing. He’s jumped out of planes without parachutes, even, and they were thrilling indeed. There was nothing quite like being in the air. It was one of the reasons he could barely go anywhere without that precious bomber jacket of his; it was reminiscent of his long days spent in the sky (though he was sure the circumstances could have been slightly better). America truly more than enjoyed being so high off the ground, looking at the tiny world and its tiny inhabitants beneath him like he was king of the world. He believed he had whatever the opposite of acrophobia was ( _ acrophilia _ , he guessed in a very, very brief moment of clarity), and he truly wouldn’t have suggested it if he wasn’t confident in it.   
  
“I BELIEVE YOU, PLEASE, GOD, JUST GET ME DOWN FROM HERE!” America screeched as he tumbled mid-air, flailing his arms wildly. He couldn’t even appreciate the marvellous open field they had taken him for his test-flight, because everything was  _ spinning _ . “OH YEAH, AND FUCK YOU, TOO, ARTHUR!”   
  
But to be manhandled by  _ the fucking wind _ was completely different from flying! He didn’t sign up for this! It felt like...like he was intentionally being juggled by invisible hands! That wasn’t fun at all!   
  
“You were up in the air for less than twenty seconds!” Arthur called (after a fit of sadistic laughter) from below. The wind mage stabilised her element and, in the process, stabilised America. She looked quite amused herself, but withheld it and tried not to look as though she was disrespecting a monarch. She safely landed America then bowed to him, Yao, and Arthur, who gave her an appreciative smile and said something that made her blush and scramble away, as if unable to contain her joy from his words..   
  
When America was sort of coordinated with his body (which wasn’t actually his), he clumsily staggered towards Arthur, who was already waltzing towards him with a cocksure look on his face. America wanted to punch the smug bastard, let him have it. Contrary to his desires, however, his head fell on Arthur’s shoulder the moment he was close enough, breathing heavily. America hadn’t intended to, really, but the world was just spinning around him, and he needed something to lean on, and Arthur just happened to be the  _ perfect  _ height for it. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” He said, inhaling Arthur’s pleasant scent, and he felt a little better already. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”   
  
Arthur patted Alfred’s shoulder amicably, though his hand seemed to linger there for a moment too long. “Maybe.” He whispered with a chuckle, and the moment felt strangely intimate ( _ Would England ever do that? _ ). Arthur moved backwards, placing both his hands on America’s shoulders to support him. They locked eyes, and America thought the guy would kiss him again or something, but soon enough the two guards from earlier were assisting him, which was a rather large contrast in comparison to the way they had treated him during their first encounter. He ignored the strange feeling of disappointment that bubbled in his chest after England had let go.   
  
Arthur took a step back and dusted his hands, though it appeared more hubristic than for actual dusting purposes. “Was that enough to convince you? Or do you still have to go around the kingdom to trust me?”   
  
“Gotta be honest with you, man.” America took a breath, “I was already pretty convinced you weren’t England the moment you agreed to fly me around the kingdom, ‘cause no way in hell would he be badass enough to actually agree to that.” And he meant it, for the most part.   
  
America served Arthur a shit-eating grin as the latter’s smile dropped instantaneously. “Then what the hell was all that trouble for?” Arthur barked, looking like he was about to throttle America. Or point a flying knife at him. “You...you made me use a wind mage!”   
  
America laughed obnoxiously. “Well gee, Arthur, I ain’t the one who offered a guy the freedom to do anything.” He stumbled a bit in his laughter, blanching when the world appeared to tumble again, though the guards kept him stable to the best of their ability. “And I thought you’d use pixie dust on me or something, not a freaking tornado!”   
  
Arthur rolled his eyes. “To be fair, you didn’t give me any conditions except for not using ropes, which was insulting, by the way. I’d never use such cheap tactics.”   
  
America made a low whistle. “Goes to show you really ain’t England.”   
  
Arthur made a strangled sound as if offended for this England fellow.   
  
America laughed at that, but it was then that it really hit him. You know, that he wasn’t in his world anymore. That he was in  _ another dimension  _ (Realm? World? Was there even a difference?).    
  
He was in a world where magic was used liberally, where he was in god knows what time period, where everyone was dressed up way too hot for the weather (and for seemingly no particular event), where everything was the same but also not. Everything was supposed to be completely alien to him, and rightfully so. He had never been here before, nor did he ever even  _ think  _ about being here before. This was the last thing he expected to wake up to after a pretty boring Thursday afternoon (well, before the floating England thing).    
  
And it wasn’t that he’d never considered there being alternate dimensions at all, especially after encountering that one Hugh Everett guy in the 50s, who was more than pleased to have America entertain his many-worlds theory. He’d explained that there was an infinite number of parallel universes, continuously branching off of one another, never to intersect or meet. Of course, this interpretation of his had many naysayers, and more than that, America had heard different claims of such parallel universes. He’d heard that they were more than just branching off of each other, that they actually come about through their own big bangs. He didn’t know what to believe, so he chose to simply enjoy it in the realm of science fiction and comic books.   
  
To actually be here for himself was unbelievable, and it didn’t matter anymore what he believed in.    
  
And he didn’t know what to feel, because this was exciting, this was new. This as a break from his routine.   
  
And yet he felt...   
  
“Do you really believe it now?”   
  
America looked at Arthur. He looked hopeful, anticipating. And he looked like he was concealing this sort of excitement, which perhaps had stemmed from the fact that America was from another world.    
  
And Arthur was  _ so  _ bright, from his dainty pale face that had this light pink hue dusted across his cheeks to his intense green eyes and to his light blonde hair. Under the sun he looked ethereal; he was positively  _ glowing _ . And that reason alone made America decide that all feelings of dread could wait, because he rather liked the view. (In a  _ friendly  _ way, of course.)   
  
America smiled, and Arthur looked more hopeful, if at all possible.    
  
“I don’t know. Do you want me not to?”    
  
Arthur reeled, that hopeful expression suddenly gone in an instant and replaced with an indignant sneer, his face and ears turning bright red. “You know, what? I don’t!” He huffed. “After all the trouble I went through, I realised that you’re not worth it! Believe whatever you want, you...you-” He made a frustrated sound and began trudging away as Yao tried to say something to him. He chose to keep his mouth shut instead and shook his head.   
  
“Just wait for it.” Yao told America, and before America could ask him what he was waiting for, exactly, Arthur glared at him over his shoulder, still annoyed and flustered.   
  
“Not that I  _ care  _ anymore, but I have-  _ had  _ one last thing to show you, but since you’re so un-bloody-reasonable, maybe you don’t have to follow after me!” And with that said, Arthur looked forward again, fist clenched and doing this adorable, sulky little march.   
  
Yao leaned towards America again. “That means that he wants you to follow him. He’ll probably just chew your ears out.” He informed, and though it seemed like he was being helpful, the lack of eye contact and flat tone suggested that it wasn’t Yao’s intention to convince America to go after him.   
  
But England’s little march had already been enough to convince America, and he shrugged, smiling brightly. “I figured as much.” He said, following Arthur despite Yao’s splutters.   
  


* * *

  
America found himself back in the room he had woken up from, and Arthur locked the door behind them. America watched him curiously, wondering what the fuss was all about  
  
“Now that we’re here,” Arthur prefaced as he turned to face America, pocketing the bedroom key and wearing a serious expression on his face, “take your shirt off.”  
  
America felt heat rush to his cheeks as he coughed into his hand, a sorry attempt at hiding whatever redness was blossoming on his face. This guy was way too forward. “Geez, you’ve been perving on me since I’ve gotten here.” he muttered. “I know I’m hot, but control yourself.”  
  
“I’m not perving on you, git.” Arthur smacked the upside of America’s head lightly, who only laughed, unaffected. “I just wanted to show you something that would explain things a little bit more.”  
  
“With my shirt off?” America asked dubiously, and Arthur nodded. “On _my_ body?”  
  
“This isn’t _your_ body.” America nearly flinched at Arthur’s quick, snarling tone. “It’s _Alfred’s_ body. Now get along to the mirror.”  
  
“Yes, sir!”  
  
America started making his way across the room, finding that his body pains and weakness had mostly dissipated throughout the day. There was only this very dull sensation in his chest left, and he was sure that if he didn’t think about it then it would go away naturally. He also realised that, in all the time he’d been in this alternative universe, he’d never seen himself, and he felt even more excited as they got closer and closer to the mirror (the room was still ridiculously big, after all, and so the journey was pretty suspenseful).   
  
America thought of the endless possibilities of what he looked like. Maybe he had brown hair now. Or red. Oh, and maybe he had purple eyes like Canada! Better yet, maybe he had eyes that glowed, too, just like Arthur’s and the wind mage’s did. Maybe he was taller, buffer, _somehow_ cooler, though he honestly didn’t feel too different from his usual self. Nonetheless, he was buzzing with excitement, and nothing would destroy his momentum!  
  
But what America saw in the mirror was slightly underwhelming. It wasn’t that he didn’t like what he saw, because damn, he looked good (even though he looked like a tired zombie who needed a good old slice of brain and six cups of coffee).  
  
“Oh.” America supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised in the first place, since Yao and Arthur looked exactly like their counterparts, anyway.   
  
“What do you mean _oh_?” Arthur was offended again, for whatever reason.  
  
“I mean,” America checked himself out in the mirror from different angles, “what’s changed?”  
  
Arthur eased a bit. “That’s...strangely relieving to hear.”  
  
America nodded absently as he slowly moved closer to his reflection. Oh, so there _were_ subtle differences. Nothing too big, just that Alfred’s face seemed to have a couple of nicks and little scars here and there, but they were barely noticeable unless scrutinised up close. He grazed his fingers over the faded and elevated marks on his face, wondering what kind of life Alfred had been leading. America could only hope he was a hero.  
  
“I’m assuming you’ve led a more peaceful life in your world?”  
  
America couldn’t help but cackle at that. “Wish I could say that. Fought a few wars myself.” _A few would be an understatement_ , he thought, but chose to keep it to himself. He glanced over at Arthur in the mirror and remembered the wars he fought next to England, and also the wars he fought _against_ England. He wondered if Alfred and Arthur had ever been enemies at war. “What does Alfred do, anyways?”  
  
“I think it would be easier to explain with your shirt off.”  
  
America shot him a look.  
  
“You know what I mean.” Arthur rolled his eyes.  
  
America hesitated but complied, feeling like the man had some sort of integrity, and Arthur at least had the mind to look away. America stared at his (Alfred’s?) reflection, his body mostly the same except for - just like with his face - a couple of barely-there scars. He also looked very slightly gaunt. Nothing too extreme, but America figured it was because he’d been knocked out for the past week (Arthur had sparingly told him that on their way to the bedchamber). “So, uh, what am I supposed to be looking at?”  
  
Arthur turned around and reached over, about to hold America’s shoulders, and America felt another tingle of anticipation and excitement from that.  
  
But Arthur flinched at his own actions and dropped his hands, crossing them behind his back while America cursed himself for feeling the way he had. “Turn around and look over at your back.” Was all Arthur said, refusing to meet America’s gaze.  
  
America complied with the latter’s orders, choosing not to further question it. He looked at his back and  
  
_Damn._  
  
“Sick tatt!” he exclaimed, reaching over to run a hand over the spade marking on his back.  
  
“It’s not a tattoo.” Arthur rolled his eyes, clearly restraining himself from admiring the way America’s back flexed as he looked everywhere _but_ the matter at hand. “It’s a birthmark.”  
  
America snorted. “Shaped like a spade?”  
  
“So spades exist in your world?” Arthur asked, less a question and more a mental note. “Anyway, in case you were wondering, that’s what I was doing on your back earlier.”  
  
...  
  
Arthur’s head snapped up in horror as the slow realisation of what he had said dawned upon them both, and he and America briefly locked eyes through their reflections, faces quite pink with embarrassment. They both quickly looked away.  
  
Damn it. Why did Arthur have to word it that way?  
  
And why’d they have to both think so obscenely? It was a hardly scandalous statement!  
  
“So, uh.” America cleared his throat and concentrated on his birthmark, trying hard to move on from Arthur’s horrible phrasing. “What does this have to do with anything?”  
  
Arthur sighed, sounding relieved. “This birthmark symbolises your position in the monarch.”  
  
America gaped at Arthur through the mirror, eyes shining with excitement. He was part of a monarchy? “What’s my position, then?”  
  
Arthur couldn’t help but smile. “You’re the King.” America gasped loudly. “Well, _Alfred_ is, not you.”  
  
“Holy shit.” America whispered. Having been a country all his life, it was kind of exciting to have another position, another title (and he was the boss, baby!). He then looked to Arthur, curious. If he was living in the castle, too, then that meant…  
  
America withheld a question that crossed his mind, instead bringing his focus back to his own (argh, _Alfred’s_?) birthmark. He didn’t know how to phrase his question without sounding like a creep either, anyways.  
  
“I do have one.” Arthur said suddenly, startling America. It was as if he’d read his mind. Arthur hesitated, but straightened himself up in an attempt to look casual. “Would you...would you like to see it?”  
  
America didn’t like that he blushed over the thought of it being in an intimate area on Arthur’s body. He wouldn’t have offered if it had been, right? “Do whatever you want, dude.”  
  
Arthur shrugged as he started taking his articles of clothing off. First he got rid of the fancy-ass tailcoat, hanging it up neatly on the gold spade-shaped hooks next to the mirror. Then, he ridded himself of that silly, giant ribbon, then the vest, and America tried thinking about how he wasn’t sweating buckets and not about the fact that this guy was stripping in front of him like it was nothing. Arthur began unbuttoning his shirt with those nimble fingers of his, and America finally looked away, suddenly feeling stuffy.  
  
“It’s on my back, too.” Arthur explained as he finished fumbling with the final button, already having his back on the mirror. He let that final article of clothing fall to the floor carelessly, looking at his own reflection.   
  
How was the guy so nonchalant about stripping in front of a stranger?  
  
America shyly glanced at Arthur’s body, hating that it turned into staring. England wasn’t shirtless a lot, so nothing could have prepared America for what he saw in the mirror. America gulped at the sight. Arthur was rather lean, but not at all not frail-looking. His back wasn’t nearly as muscular as America's ( _Alfred’s_ , rather), but it was smooth and had a semblance of definition, and there was a slight, nearly feminine inward curve at his waist. America stopped himself before his eyes could travel much lower than where there was a small spade birthmark, which was already positioned rather low.  
  
The guy had a _goddamn tramp stamp_. Whoever put that thing there was just cruel (especially to America in that specific moment).  
  
“So what’s your position, then?” Was all America asked after staring at Arthur’s back for what felt like forever. He cringed at the way his voice cracked at ‘position’.  
  
Arthur wasn’t looking at the mirror, but America could imagine the self-satisfied look on his face as he announced, “I’m the Queen.”  
  
It took awhile for America to fully grasp what that meant. What it implied. His face felt even hotter. _Don’t jump to conclusions._ “Is-is that like a title? A family thing? Or are we-” America spluttered, “I mean, are you and Alfred actually…”  
  
Arthur finally looked over his shoulder and smiled, looking like he wanted to laugh. _Screw this guy_ , America thought, adding a mental ‘not in that way _’_ as if his mind had an audience.  
  
“It mainly pertains to the position in the kingdom, although here in Spades a royal wedding is warranted as a symbol of a strong alliance between King and Queen. It’s not necessarily for romantic purposes.” Arthur told him, grunting as he bent to pick up the shirt he had discarded on the floor (and this time, America made sure to _look away_ ).  
  
America wasn’t sure if he was relieved to hear Arthur’s explanation. “So you and Alfred aren’t…”  
  
“Intimately affiliated?” Arthur finished for him as he pulled his shirt back on, turning around to face the mirror once he was halfway buttoned up. He then smirked at America (not his reflection, for once), a cheeky little thing, and said: “I’ll let you figure that out on your own.”  
  
America’s eyebrows furrowed together. How was he supposed to figure that out on his own? He didn’t know Alfred personally, nor would he ever even meet him. Arthur said that making assumptions was making an ass out of ‘you and me’, so what did he want from America, exactly? What was he supposed to say? Nothing that had happened so far could possibly-  
  
Then, the day’s events all hit him like a truck. The extreme comfort around America, the touching, the _kissing_.  
  
_Shit_.  
  
Arthur (who probably figured out that America had reached a conclusion about Alfred and Arthur’s relationship) continued to smirk at the taller man, and all America could think was _fuck this guy and his stupid mood swings_. One minute he was all red and embarrassed and touchy and the next he was all brazen and it was _America_ who looked like a total idiot.  
  
“Can’t anyone just fake this?” America blurted out, also scrambling to put his shirt on as well.  
  
That shit-eating look on Arthur’s face never left (for who knows what reason), even when he offered America a proper explanation. “These markings aren’t superficial. They’re bound to our souls. It's our destiny.”  
  
America nodded slowly as he buttoned himself up. Well that didn’t sound cult-y at all. “I gotta introduce you guys to some good old democracy.” He mumbled, finishing up his shirt.  
  
“I haven’t a clue what that is, but we barely have any issues with appointing those with these marks.” America almost laughed at how Arthur seemed to struggle with something as simple as buttoning his vest up. “We don’t need you introducing Spades to _anything_ , thank you very much.”  
  
Arthur finished dressing himself up, looking a tad bit sloppier than before he had undressed himself (America blushed at the memory). He fixed himself up a bit in the mirror, mainly repositioning that little hat of his so that it would look less lopsided. America stared at him, amused, and Arthur caught his eyes and scowled.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothin’.” America said, looking away and laughing to himself, choosing to keep the teasing comment about Arthur’s little hat to himself. Arthur clicked his tongue and finished up, muttering irritated whispers under his breath. America bit back a grin. _This guy and his mood swings_.  
  
“Anyway, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Arthur said, cheeks pink as he properly faced America. “It’s about-”  
  
Loud, urgent-sounding raps came to the door.   
  
“Damn it.” Arthur hissed, walking to the door as America trailed behind him. The question had to wait, then. He unlocked the large door and flung it open, revealing a concerned Yao who seemed to be out of breath. “What is it?”  
  
Yao barely spared America a glance before he tugged at Arthur’s wrist. “We need to talk. _Now_.”  
  
“Yao, what-”  
  
“And you,” Yao pointed a finger at America, “we’ll have you detained-”  
  
“ _Yao_!” Arthur grated, twisting his wrist free from Yao’s grip. He looked at him defiantly, thick eyebrows tightly knitted together and forming creases on his forehead. “What is wrong with you now? America has the liberty to do as he pleases.”  
  
Yao gaped at Arthur, disbelieving (and America was shocked too, really, hearing England’s counterpart say that and all). “Your Majesty-”  
  
“My decision is final.” Arthur said heatedly. “America will do as he pleases and have people attend to him, and that’s final!”  
  


* * *

  
“With all due respect, your Highness, we don’t know what kind of person this...this America was in his reality! We cannot be too trusting! He’s too cunning!”  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes as he lifted his head to look at Yao, a displeased look on his face. He did not let himself be dragged back to his office just to get yelled at. “And with all due respect, my faithful Jack, I’m not an ignorant wanker who would let a harmful man loose on my palace. He’s _fine_.” He leaned against his seat, awaiting Yao’s response.  
  
He was unfazed. “Might I remind you that it’s my job as Jack to ensure that the monarchs don’t do anything foolish?” Arthur shot Yao a warning glare, but Yao stood his ground. “Would his Majesty at least give me the basis of his trust?”  
  
“I’m telling you, Yao. America’s completely trustworthy.” Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “Unless you’re questioning the Queen’s judgement? Do you not trust me, or do you just not like America?” He asked darkly.  
  
Yao’s expression hardened as he scoffed. “In all my years of service as Jack to the good Kingdom of Spades, Highness, I have _never_ once let my personal biases overtake my desire to keep the kingdom safe. Everything I’ve advised in my years of service have been for the benefit of the kingdom, the people, and the King and Queen. We are already down by one monarch, and if anything happens to you, who _knows_ what would happen to Spades.” Guilt rested in the pit of Arthur’s stomach. Yao was right. “So if my due concern would be counted as royal distrust and treason, then by all means strip me of my title and appoint another Jack.”  
  
Arthur sat there, silent, because Yao was absolutely right. As vicious as his words were, he had a point, and he _meant well_. This man had been somewhat of a parental figure to Arthur in all his years in the palace, and to question him like this…  
  
Arthur felt horrible.  
  
After a heavy bout of thick silence, Yao eventually genuflected before Arthur, alarming him. “I’m sorry, my Queen. That was out of line for me to say.” His tone was gentle and meaningful, but Arthur could hear that he was not at all going to take back what he said. And why would he, when he was right? And why was he bowing when Arthur was the one who should be in such a position?   
  
Arthur shook his head, inhaling shakily. “You were only doing your job as a Jack and most importantly, as a friend.” Yao looked up at him, looking startled but also somewhat touched, and Arthur felt compelled to return with a slight smile. “Don’t apologise and rise; it’s not honourable for a man of profound wisdom to bow to a fool.” Yao immediately rose to his feet, opening his mouth to defend the Queen’s honour, but Arthur only raised a hand.  
  
“Maybe...maybe you’re right, I was a little too trusting and made a hasty judgement. I-I don’t know what’s come over me. It’s just that-” Arthur caught his tongue between his teeth lest he say something he would regret.  
  
Another pregnant pause. Maybe Yao could let it be-  
  
“It’s just that what?” prompted Yao, which was what Arthur had wished he wouldn’t do, because frankly speaking he wasn’t very sure about what to say himself.  
  
Arthur looked at the surface of his desk shamefully. He didn’t feel like lying to his Jack. “I don’t know how to describe it, but I...I really feel in my heart that he can be trusted.” _It’s the way he looks at me with those innocent eyes_.  
  
Yao nodded solemnly, seemingly disappointed with the reasoning but remained compliant. “Then I will not further question the Queen’s judgement.” Arthur still wasn’t looking up at him, and Yao sighed.  
  
“It’s just that you and Alfred have the tendency to be unreasonable. I almost forgot that _you_ were the more stable one.” Yao’s lips twitched into a teasing smile just as Arthur looked up, and he was more than happy that the heavy atmosphere was dissipating. “But I _will_ be keeping tabs on him.”  
  
“I’m in full support of that.” Arthur breathed, relieved that they had at least reached a compromise. It was only fair. “Meanwhile I’ll be here, seeing what I can do to…”   
  
Oh, _right._   
  
Arthur had gotten too ahead of himself. He had been so caught up with his excitement, so thrilled to hear that blue magic truly existed (one way or another), so astonished that there were indeed other worlds other than theirs, and so eager to speak with America because he was _too much_ like Alfred that-  
  
Oh heavens.  
  
_Gods._  
  
What had he been _thinking_?  
  
Grief and guilt washed over him once again, and he knew that it reflected on his face by the way Yao’s expression shifted to concern. Arthur felt disgusted with himself, and he wished that this was all just a nightmare. Arthur felt tears sting his eyes, but they never fell, and he preferred it that way. He hated himself terribly.  
  
“I’ll see what I can do to get the King back.” _Back to me_.  
  
Yao frowned, opening his mouth, but Arthur effectively cut him off. He just wanted this to be over with.  
  
“So.” Arthur began, straightening up. The feeling of fatigue was crawling up on him again, the medicine he’d received from Yao and his adrenaline from the earlier events wearing off. He once again longed to be in Alfred’s arms. “Surely you didn’t drag me here just to lecture me about one of my many questionable decisions. What is it?”  
  
Yao gazed at the tired Queen solemnly, but obediently nodded. “News that the King has been unwell has been spreading fast throughout the capital.”  
  
Arthur pursed his lips, feeling worse. Right, of course there were other problems, too. He had definitely gotten too ahead of himself. “Of course it has.” He said simply, clenching his fist.  
  
“They have to know.” Yao said after Arthur’s silence made it clear that he wasn’t going to add any more than those four words.  
  
“Know what?” Arthur frowned, aggravated and thoroughly tired. “That the King’s body is alive and well, except his bloody soul’s in another dimension?”  
  
Yao laughed, dry. “They don’t need to know that about the King’s predicament. Just that he’s awake now.”  
  
“How will our arrangements work? We’ve been pushing back our meetings with Ivan for too long now.” Arthur’s head was throbbing just thinking about what all this could mean for Spades. “Only the gods know what might happen to our fragile peace with Clubs if they find out we’re pushing back because we don’t actually _have_ our King. This could be used against us.”  
  
“We’ll have to meet with Clubs whether we like it or not, then. At least an appearance. Something brief.” Yao said firmly. “We may not have King Alfred, but we have his body, nonetheless. We can puppet America, get him to speak and act the way the King does.”  
  
Arthur withheld a tired grin. “That won’t be a problem.”  
  
Yao shrugged. “We don’t know his experience.”  
  
“He’s fought a few wars.”  
  
“Which side did he fight on?”  
  
“Does it matter now?” Arthur quipped before guiltily lowering his tone. He closed his eyes, weary. “Ugh, I’m sorry, Yao, my head just feels like it’s being split.”  
  
“It’s fine.” Yao said patiently, once again taking hold of Arthur’s arm and crouching to wrap it over his shoulders. He grunted and pulled Arthur up, who did his best to distribute the weight. “Come now. I’ll handle America. You should rest. The medicine’s wearing off.”  
  
“Yeah.” Arthur mumbled. “This time, don’t wake me up.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaaand I'm tired. Happy weekend. ;P


	4. Unkept Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America is given a tour around the palace and meets someone familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, sorry there was no Monday update. ;( I'd really gotten sick earlier this week. I'm okay now, though! Enjoy!! Thank you all sooo much for the support, it's crazy!

Just as Arthur had ordered, quite a number of attendants tended to America’s requests, some shy and some older ones more comfortable with him, fussing about how anxious Arthur had been and how strange it was for the chefs to prepare such meager meals during the past week. They didn’t seem to be particularly suspicious about him and continued referring to him as ‘his Majesty’, even, which he didn’t bother correcting. That was Arthur’s job, and it felt pretty cool to be called a king, anyway. From what he experienced, he figured that Alfred must’ve been a pretty cool guy.  
  
America sighed happily as he sunk further into the warmth of his bath, the flowers afloat around him shifting as the water sloshed about. The first thing he’d requested - aside from food, of course - was to take a nice, warm shower, which the attendants had scrambled to do instantaneously. America had wondered why some of them had come back with bags of flowers, and it all made sense when he found that they had prepared him a full-blown spa treatment he had once experienced during a brief visit in Indonesia. Just like the bedchamber, the tub itself was ridiculously large. He wasn’t surprised if it could fit two people.  
  
America groaned, sinking even further so that his chin was in the water, some soft petals gently grazing his bottom lips. _Of course_ it could fit two people, and he hated that that thought had crossed his mind. Who knew what sort of activities Alfred and Arthur had already done in this stupid tub.  
  
America cringed, and he sucked in a deep breath and submerged himself fully into the water. He recognised enough that Alfred and Arthur were separate entities from him and England, but they were still them, somehow, and that meant that any unholy thought that crossed his mind about Alfred and Arthur automatically looked like unholy thoughts about him and England. America didn’t exactly want those mental images at the moment (or _ever_ ).  
  
And besides, going at it in a tub seemed hardly doable. Wouldn’t it be slippery? Not to mention, water wasn’t exactly the best lubricant. But magic _did_ exist in this world, so-  
  
America resurfaced with a gasp, angrily rubbing his face and slapping warm his cheeks, though he stopped immediately just in case there was anyone waiting for him behind the bathroom door. He let an inadvertent groan slip out of his throat, and he cursed himself all the more as he begrudgingly and briskly finished up what could have been a soothing bath, wanting to be anywhere but the tub at the moment. It was a bummer, honestly, since he was enjoying it up until his mind started sabotaging him with images and scenarios he didn’t want to imagine ( _ever_ ). Stupid Arthur and Alfred, being married and having all that...that intimate involvement bullshit. America couldn’t get Arthur’s smirk out of his mind.  
  
He climbed out of the tub and slipped some shower sandals on, reaching for the towel that had been conveniently hung just beside the bathtub. He dried himself up and shook out his hair like a wet dog, waltzing over to the mirror as he observed his body. Well, Alfred’s body. It felt rather strange, since America was definitely staring at his own reflection, with the minor differences only being a couple of scars. Yet at the same time, he knew it wasn’t _his_ , exactly. This was Alfred’s body - strong, broad-shouldered and handsome...just like America’s own. It was tripping him out, feeling like he was leering at a stranger’s body whilst also feeling like it was an ordinary day with him staring at his regular body. Or something.  
  
America shook his head, letting his final thought on the topic be whether or not Alfred was feeling the same way he was. This was making his head hurt. He spared the tub one last glance as he slipped on a fluffy white robe hanging beside the mirror. Despite the very unwholesome and unwelcome mental pictures that disrupted his little pampering session, he did feel so much better, and he felt significantly less dirty, too. Not to mention, he smelled divine.  
  
America jumped as soon as he opened the bathroom door, finding Yao standing right in front of him, a familiar scowl on his face. “What the hell, man?”  
  
“We need to talk about the arrangements.” Yao said, stepping aside to let America out of the bathroom. There were a couple of attendants standing there near the mirror Arthur had led him to earlier. Each servitor had different articles of clothing in their hands, appearing to wait for America to come to them for dressing. He eyed them closely, eyes flickering to Yao’s, who stared back intently, not speaking.  
  
“I’ll get changed first.” America told him, unnerved by the silence (and by the anticipatory atmosphere, for that matter). He turned to the attendants with a sheepish grin. “You guys don’t mind if I do that on my own, right?”  
  
The attendants looked to Yao, and for a moment America was afraid he had done something wrong that would get them into trouble. But Yao looked somewhat pleased, and so did the servitors, who one by one hung up the clothes by a dressing screen next to the mirror in what seemed to be the most practical order. They then left the room, leaving only the two men behind.  
  
“At least that’s not a problem.” Yao said after only a second passed, more ease to his voice. “Alfred likes dressing himself. He always dismisses the attendants.”  
  
America nodded slowly, unsure of why Yao was divulging that information to him, or why it mattered. “Cool beans.” He remarked, voice laced with uncertainty. “Sooooo, do you mind leaving the room, too?”  
  
“No. We need to talk.”  
  
“Wha-” America tried to argue, but Yao looked like he wasn’t going anywhere. He felt kind of dumb for assuming the guy would budge. “Can’t you at least turn around?”  
  
“I won’t see anything through the dressing screen.”  
  
“That’s still weird!”  
  
Yao narrowed his eyes at America but did as requested, though he noted that the man seemed to be clutching a weapon under his jacket. America rolled his eyes but made his way behind the screen and started dressing himself anyways, supposing that he couldn’t blame Yao for his wariness. He hoped that Alfred was receiving better treatment on the other side.  
  
After a couple moments of shuffling, he left the screen and told Yao that he was mostly dressed, doing his tie in front of the mirror with more ease than Arthur had with his ribbon. He slipped on his vest and buttoned it up, feeling a little weird about how curiously and intently Yao watched him.  
  
“So what’s up?” America finally asked, feeling rather awkward, but not so much when his outfit started coming together nicely. He whistled at his own reflection (wait, did that mean he was hitting on Alfred?), smoothing out his vest. “Damn, ya boy clean up nice.” He looked over at Yao with a small smirk, snickering when the man’s eyebrows furrowed together, thoroughly confused. America felt himself ease a little bit more, knowing that China would have reacted the same way, too. He felt more comfortable.  
  
Yao sighed. “Like I said, I need to talk to you about the arrangements during your stay here. Alfred has a lot of responsibilities that we have to do as soon as possible.”  
  
America nodded, half listening as he grabbed the final article of clothing - the waistcoat. He beamed at himself once his ensemble was complete, gently flicking the waistcoat’s lapels with pride. It was undoubtedly more outrageous than his usual preference, but it wasn’t nearly as ridiculous as Arthur and Yao’s, that was for sure. His outfit was identical to Arthur’s, actually, save for that giant bow being replaced with a regular necktie (America felt he looked more badass). Arthur’s waistcoat was darker than his, too.  
  
Speaking of which…  
  
“Where’s Arthur?”  
  
Yao looked annoyed, as if he’d heard that one too many times. “He’s resting.” He swatted his hand at America. “Now listen to me.” He gestured to the sitting area, and America followed after him, plopping down on the sofa when they got there whilst Yao took the seat diagonal to him. “While we try figuring out how to get you back to your world, there are certain duties you have to fulfill as King. They can’t wait anymore.”  
  
America groaned. “Aw man, even here I got work?”  
  
“Of course.” America wrinkled his nose at that response, all fantasies about unwinding leaving him. “So you at least had a job in your world?”  
  
America nodded eagerly. That was probably a back-handed question, but he was pretty excited to talk about it. “Alfred’s _not_ having a fun time in my place either, lemme tell you that. It’s a hero’s job, after all!” He paused, supposing that Alfred would at least have half of his coolness. “But I guess it’s pretty similar to running a kingdom. Super similar, actually.”  
  
Yao sniffed. “A child like you? Having fought your own battles does not make you a king.” Oh, so Arthur had kept that comment of America’s in mind and even relayed it to Yao. “It’s not a game.”  
  
America was offended. Particularly about that child comment, willing to bet he was a couple centuries older than Yao. “I...probably know how to run a kingdom.” defended America lamely, though he hadn’t intended it to come out that way. What difference would it make from running his own land, anyways?  
  
Still, America actually did feel slightly nervous. He was in uncharted territory, after all. But he couldn’t let himself look weak, so he shrugged, trying to look calm. “How hard can it be?”  
  
Yao stared at him, unconvinced. Perhaps he sensed America’s nervousness after all. “It’s not a _game_ .” He repeated.  
  
“Obviously. I got you the first time.” America snorted. He knew that all too well. “You have no idea who I am, compadre.”  
  
Yao wasn’t amused. “Right. Okay.” America tried to argue, wanting to talk about his ‘credentials’ and brag about his achievements, but Yao was already flipping through his little notepad. “Because of your week-long coma, meetings and arrangements with certain important people have been pushed back. On top of this, news has spread that the King has been unwell, so we sent out a herald to announce that the King has fallen ill but has woken up and will be working. Of course, many people will doubt this so you will need to make a public appearance one way or another. The Queen and I can handle the paperwork but the people need a King. They cannot wait anymore. Do you understand?”  
  
America blinked at Yao’s word vomit before collapsing on the sofa, whining. “But I just woke up from a coma! Can’t I spend some days off?”  
  
Yao rolled his eyes. Clearly he had been in this scenario before. “No, and stop being dramatic. I can tell you’re fine.” America whined again at that. “You won’t be making any big decisions for the kingdom, so you won’t actually be doing work. You’ll simply be doing everything we tell you to do, which won’t be much. So just do as we say and there won’t be any problems.”  
  
America lifted his head to look at Yao, unsure of how to feel about this new information. “So you’re saying I’ll be a puppet?”  
  
Yao considered it before nodding. “More or less. We can’t leave the Kingdom of Spades in the hands of a stranger.” The way he said ‘stranger’ was full of malice and disdain, spat out like an obscenity. America didn’t want to make decisions for the kingdom in the first place, but now that he was told that he couldn’t, he wanted to out of sheer spite. Yao shut his little notebook with a soft slap. “And you’ll be moving rooms.”  
  
America shot up with a gasp. “Whaaaat? But I was just getting comfy!”  
  
“You can get comfy in Alfred’s old room.” Yao huffed as he stood up, complaining quietly about his back and rubbing it.  
  
America gasped for a second time with added drama, and Yao let out an irritated growl. “But this is the King’s chambers, right? That’s why I was here!”  
  
“You certainly argue like the King.” Yao shook his head disapprovingly. “It’s the King _and_ Queen’s.”  
  
“But it’s still the King’s too and-” America paused as Yao raised his eyebrows at him. He smiled sheepishly. “...and I’m not actually him, but-”  
  
“Listen, you have no idea what’s been done on that bed.” Yao cut off tiredly as if that was his last resort, swivelling on the ball of his foot with ease before walking away from America, who only sputtered unintelligibly while jogging after him. Yao looked over his shoulder, a brief look of satisfaction crossing his face at America’s flustered state. “If that’s all, I was told to get you familiar with the palace to get used to your life here that will _hopefully_ only be a couple of days.”  
  
America nearly tripped over his feet when Yao suddenly halted in his steps abruptly, turning around in one brisk movement. They nearly collided. “I’m only doing this because the Queen has decided to trust you.” Yao all but sneered. “Keep in mind that I will not hesitate to handle you myself in any way I deem fit should you do anything that will betray the Kingdom of Spades’ trust. Are we clear?”  
  
America smiled at Yao’s threatening presence, hoping the guy wouldn’t smell his fear. “No funny business, got it!” He straightened his back and winked at him, lifting up three fingers. “Scout’s honour.”  
  
“Whatever.” Yao muttered, pushing the door open. “Our tour starts here.”  
  


* * *

  
The tour was going swimmingly. Well, in America’s eyes, that is. They had started with the massive corridor holding the three rooms exclusive to the King and Queen. The grandest bedchamber at the end of the hallway where America had come from was the Queen and King’s shared quarters, though their respective chambers were still remarkable in their own rights, Yao had bragged. America assumed that both were more personal, too, with the King’s chamber being abundant with little wooden replicas of knightly objects, and it was practically bursting old books with visuals (comics, essentially). America decided it wouldn’t be too bad to stay in Alfred’s room; it was rather comfortable and he felt at home in it. Adjacent to that room was Arthur’s, which Yao hadn’t bothered showing to America as the Queen had been resting in it. America was certain it was fancier than Alfred’s, though.  
  
Yao had dutifully explained each room’s purpose to America in a clear and concise manner, briefly touching on Alfred and Arthur living in their respective rooms prior to coming together before deciding that it wasn’t his story to tell and that Arthur would tell America about their history himself. Yao did tell America, however, that the rooms’ sole purpose now was for Alfred and Arthur to have a place to cool off whenever they’d have disagreements over work or would simply have petty squabbles that would escalate into something more.  
  
“It doesn’t happen a lot.” Yao had explained. “They normally resolve things the next day.” Then he started to mutter and fuss about how the palace workers would get suspicious, though America couldn’t understand most of what he was saying to himself.  
  
Reaching the exit of the hallway had brought them to a crossroads of three more. The left led to the Jack’s bedchamber, a special library, and their private studies whilst the right led to more bedchambers for exclusive guests (typically monarchs from other kingdoms). On some occasions, family members of the Queen, King or even Jack would occupy them for as long as they may rule. The hallway straight ahead - right where Yao and America had headed after a short explanation of the previous corridors - was slightly less narrow than the previous three, though the journey to the end of it was not less taxing on the legs. Reaching the end of it had brought them to an open-air, roofed corridor over another gorgeous albeit smaller garden with smooth white statues and special-looking plants and small trees. Little tables were scattered about in the area, but it did not look random. It was a personal garden where tea-times and more intimate, non-work affairs took place, Yao had told America, and it was harder to maintain as many of the plants were enchanted and needed to be closely tended to.  
  
After the open corridor was another enclosed space, though this time it led to a grand hall and an equally grand staircase with red carpetry, and a glorious dome of intricate architecture loomed over the area. The windows let some sunlight into the hall, and the light bounced off of the chandelier exquisitely, illuminating the place more than what America had thought was possible. There was another area across from them that Yao hadn’t taken America to but talked about as they descended the staircase, claiming that Americawould have gotten bored of it like Alfred had.  
  
He was right, because America had zoned out at the mention of ‘meeting rooms’. Even worse, the maids eventually caught up with them and provided America with supremely delicious pastries just as he had requested. It was all over for Yao at that point, as all of America’s attention was then given to his palate and filling stomach. America just followed wherever Yao went.  
  
“And this is the throne room, where more informal meetings are held or when we entertain- Your Majesty! Are you listening?”  
  
“Hm? What?” America gulped down his food before looking around in awe, from the massive windows, to the smooth white pillars, the knights, the thrones themselves, the _ceiling mural_ . He nearly dropped his food. “Oh shit! Is this the throne room?”  
  
Yao grinded his teeth as he pulled America to a corner, away from prying ears. “Were you even listening?” He hissed angrily, though he kept his voice down, looking over America’s shoulder.  
  
“Yeah, sure.” America answered, though he honestly had no idea why Yao was mad as he stuffed a cookie into his mouth. Who could be mad in such a dope place? “Got you covered, chief.”  
  
“This is hopeless.” Yao moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “At least act like you live here! We’re trying not to rouse suspicion!”  
  
America gasped. “You’re right!” Yao opened his mouth to speak but was cut off when America cleared his throat, turning to the rest of the people in the throne room. “That was a joke, you guys! I obviously knew this was a throne room ‘cause I, y’know, live here!”  
  
The subjects looked back to him with a smile, although they did look a little confused. Nonetheless, they nodded to (who they thought was) their King and saluted, and that was enough to convince and satisfy America. He turned back to Yao, looking proud of himself. “Fixed it!”  
  
“Charming.” Yao grated. “It’s babysitting Alfred all over again.”   
  
“Alfred!”  
  
Yao and America quickly turned to the source. Who could it have been? Everyone else but Arthur and Yao referred to him as the King. America wondered who else could have the balls to refer to him informally (not that he cared), but it all made sense when he laid eyes on the man. His eyes widened, a sense of recognition coursing through him as he stared at the ‘stranger’. That blonde wavy hair with that singular wiry strand of hair that stuck out no matter what, those purple eyes, that facial structure almost exactly like his - he knew who this was. He racked his brain and remembered a conversation he had about human names some years back with this guy.  
  


Justin? Marcus? Martin? Mary? Mark? He swore it started with a ‘Ma’...  
  
Then it clicked.  
  
“Matthew!” America finally recalled as he jogged over to the man who was fast approaching, ignoring Yao when he sputtered at his sudden outburst.  
  
America assumed that he’d gotten the name right, as Canada’s counterpart only looked relieved to see him. They met at the middle of the massive throne room, naturally locking hands with one another as a greeting just like he and Canada would. “Are you okay? I got here as soon as I heard.”  
  


“I sure am...Matthew. Matt! ...Mattie?” God, everything about this dude was just _Canada_ that America almost slipped. He couldn’t help but feel nervous when Matthew stared at him with a slightly confused and wary look. Did he catch up? He looked to the direction of where he had left Yao, finding that the man had actually already joined his side. He lowered his voice. “Uh, Yao?”  
  
Yao glared at America before clearing his throat, bowing to Matthew. “Hello, Matthew, how nice of you to come back early to,” his gaze flickered to America’s, “visit your _brother_.”  
  
America drew an ‘oh’ as Matthew looked at both of them, even more confused. Unsure of what to do, he pulled Matthew in for a bear hug as he made a face at Yao, who scowled at him back. “Uh, good to see ya, Mattie.” He patted his brother’s back firmly, hoping this was normal for Alfred and Matthew, because it was totally improvised and not at all that common for him and Canada. Maybe confidence could win the guy over.  
  
Thankfully, Matthew didn’t stiffen at all and only sighed, patting Alfred’s back in return. “Good to see you too, Al.” America found that he smelled very cozy and a little bit like maple syrup, though there was a whiff of something like wine. Matthew pulled away, smiling gently. “When’d you get up?”  
  
“Just today.”  
  
“That was...fast. But I’m glad you were able to recover quickly.” Matthew was relieved for the most part, but there was still this form of wariness and surprise in his tone. Still, he didn’t comment on anything else. “Did anything hurt?”  
  
America hummed. The answer was a big fat yes, but Matthew didn’t have to know that. “Nah, I’m totally fine.”  
  
“You’re such a liar.” Matthew snorted, though a playful smile played on his lips, and he laughed gently. America gaped at him and cursed all at once, though he tried joining in on the laughter as to not rouse any more suspicion. Damn, he thought he could fool this guy. “Are you two busy? I wouldn’t want to intrude…”  
  
Yao looked like a bulb had lit in his mind as he suddenly started pushing the brothers towards the door. “No, not busy at all! You should hang out!”  
  
“Wha- Yao!” Alfred squeaked. What was with this sudden pushiness? Plus, what did Yao expect them to talk about? He was going to blow his cover real quick with this guy! “Dude, what’s going on?”  
  
“Just go!” Yao grunted. “Walk around the palace, whatever, just go!”  
  


* * *

  
  
_“Get. Out.” Arthur managed, feeling the bed dip beside him. He turned to his side so that his back was facing his intruder, not wanting to see him. A strong arm attempted to wrap itself around his waist, but he swatted it away before pulling his comforter over his head, grip tightening in anger. “I don’t want to see you.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _A sigh. “C’mon, Artie…”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“It’s Arthur and I said get out!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m sorry.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Arthur scoffed at that. “Are you, really? Because earlier you told me you’d never apologise because_ you _were right and_ I _was being dramatic.” His grip tightened all the more upon replaying earlier events in his mind. “I’m not going to crawl back to your bed, Alfred.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I know, and that’s not what I’m asking for. I just wanna apologise to you.” Alfred said slowly, his voice incredibly gentle and replete with sincerity. Arthur almost looked at him, but he could already imagine how Alfred was looking at him with those irresistible blue eyes of his and that desperate little expression on his face begging his Queen to please forgive him. And Arthur damn well knew - they both knew - that he wouldn’t be able to resist the young King. He could barely resist him now just imagining him in all his glory, and it did pain him so to reject Alfred’s affection._ _  
_ _  
_ _But his coldness towards Alfred wasn’t unwarranted. The fool had practically been ignoring Arthur and running on zero sleep for the past couple of days yet had the audacity to snap at him when he did something to remedy it. Normally Arthur was completely understanding about sleepless nights, especially considering their positions, but goodness gracious, five days straight of zero sleep because of an enchanted court jester was ridiculous! Even Yao couldn’t get him to take his attention elsewhere._ _  
_ _  
_ _And so that lunch when Arthur had the jester sent away on the basis of it being a product of dark magic (as he later found out that it had been a ‘gift’ from one of the Jokers), Alfred was angry beyond reason. Arthur had tried to be civil, explaining that it had been sent to distract him and play with him and that by his attitude alone, it had been successful, but Alfred was insistent, blabbering about like he was mad and calling Arthur dramatic. Arthur was essentially viewed as the villain._ _  
_ _  
_ _With that, Arthur wished Alfred a ‘very good night’ during the midday before hiding away in the Queen’s quarters, feeling odd to be back in his old room after such a long time, but whatever. He wasn’t sure how long he’d spent simply laying on his bed or if he’d fallen asleep at some point. He hadn’t noticed that the sun had gone down on him, either, and he had turned down Yao’s call for dinner. Arthur was sure that that had been hours ago._ _  
_ _  
_ _And now his foolish husband was here. Although Arthur was upset that Alfred had invited himself over, he was more upset about the fact that he had only dropped by now._ _  
_ _  
_ _“What are you sorry for?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“For everything.” Alfred whispered, sounding truly apologetic. “Gods, Arthur, I don’t know what got into me. You were right.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Arthur remained silent._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m so sorry. I was just…” Alfred caught himself, perhaps noticing Arthur moving somehow further away from him. “There’s no excuse. That was so unfair to you. I shouldn’t have done that. I was being stupid, you were just looking out for me, and...and...Arthur?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Arthur didn’t reply._ _  
_ _  
_ _Alfred sighed heavily. “I shouldn’t have barged in like this.” He laughed hollowly, disappointed in himself. “Take all the time you need, okay? I’m...I really am sorry about the Jester thing. And for barging in. That’s...that’s all I wanted to say. I’ll leave you alone now. Have a good night, Artie. Sweet dreams.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Arthur immediately grabbed Alfred’s wrist when the bed started creaking, indicating that the King was leaving. “Get back here, you git.” Arthur said through gritted teeth as Alfred looked at him, perplexed. “I didn’t say you could leave.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _A smile of relief briefly washed over Alfred’s face, though it was quickly replaced by concern and shame. “Sorry.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Stop apologising. It’s unlike you.” Arthur huffed, tugging on Alfred’s arm. The King eagerly laid down next to him, and Arthur almost forgot why he was mad in the first place. His King was truly a marvel to look at. “I’m not doing this because I forgive you, because I don’t. I might consider forgiving you under one condition.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Okay?” Alfred was clearly withholding a snort. “What is it?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Hold me.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Alfred could barely hold back a grin as he instantly pulled Arthur flush against his firm chest, and Arthur could hear that his heart was beating as fast as his own, if not faster. Everything was so warm and pleasant and perfect and really, Arthur could not want it any other way. Alfred planted a kiss atop Arthur’s head, and he melted completely, all the more when Alfred began running his strong hand through his hair, massaging his scalp. Arthur shuddered. “I’m so sorry, Arthur.” Alfred whispered into his forehead, and Arthur thought he might cry from pure bliss._ _  
_ _  
_ _“It’s alright.” Came Arthur’s breathy reply. It was so absurd to him how easily one man could sway his emotions like that. “So long as you know you’re the world’s biggest idiot.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m the world’s biggest idiot.” Alfred yawned. “But you’re an even bigger dummy for falling for me.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Your Majesty.” _  
_ _  
_ _Arthur scoffed, though he buried himself into Alfred’s chest, smiling like an idiot. “Cheesy brat.”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Queen Arthur.” _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh darlin’, you love it.” Alfred chuckled._ _  
_  
“Your Highness?”  
  
_Without hesitation, Arthur looked up, gently bumping the top of his head with Alfred’s chin. They decided to ignore it, because nothing else was more important than the next three words Arthur would tell him. “I-”_ _  
_ _  
_ “Arthur!”  
  
“I thought I told you not to wake me up!” Arthur grumbled with a tired slur as he sat up, graciously accepting the tea Yao was offering to him despite the glare he was casting at his poor Jack (thankfully the guy was no longer fazed by anything). Arthur actually hadn’t slept a wink since Yao had brought him to the Queen’s chambers, reminiscing instead about times not too long ago and craving Alfred. Badly. He set the cup down on the nightstand with a clink and fell back, the pillows cushioning his fall. “Thank you and goodbye, Yao.”  
  
Yao clicked his tongue. “You need to eat dinner.”  
  
“Ugh.”  
  
Yao rolled his eyes, pulling Arthur up by his arms and muttering something about babysitting. “Matthew’s here now, too. He got here as soon as he heard about what happened to Alfred.”  
  
“That’s good to hear.” Arthur said genuinely, glad Matthew was out of that damned Kingdom of Diamonds. The earlier he knew about America, too, the better. “Has he met with America yet?”  
  
“Yes, I think he hasn’t realised it’s not Alfred yet, though. He might soon, hopefully. That’s why I left him watch over America.”  
  
“At least he’s not ‘watching over’ that frog.” Arthur muttered bitterly as he let Yao drag him up, pitying his brother-in-law but also wondering how he could make such a questionable decision, a singular mark in his otherwise immaculate track record. Matthew was a wonderful man, and it was a shame that he appeared to hold some sort of affection towards the King of Diamonds (although secretly Arthur understood completely why, but he’d never say it out loud). “How was their little reunion, then?”  
  
“Something strange happened.” Yao began, and Arthur hummed attentively whilst stretching. “America knew Matthew’s name. I don’t remember ever mentioning Matthew.”  
  
Arthur looked up at Yao, concerned. “He...recognised him?”  
  
“Well, he called him Matthew at first.” Yao clarified. “I don’t even remember the last time he’s called him that.”  
  
“That’s...odd.” Arthur finally got off the bed, fully awake. This was truly strange. “Although...I suppose that his alternate reality would have Matthew, too. It’s just odd that he knows his name _here_ .”  
  
Yao pursed his lips, and after a bout of silence he asked, “Is it something to be concerned about?”  
  
“Let’s hope not.” Frankly, Arthur didn’t know what to make of it, and he recalled that America hadn’t reacted too strangely when he had called him ‘Alfred’ initially. Then again, Arthur didn’t demand America to stop calling him ‘England’ until later either. He had to see all this for himself. “Any odd behaviour from your time with him?”  
  
Yao immediately looked distressed. “It was like a blast to the past, your Majesty.”  
  
“I’ll interpret that as a good thing.” Arthur chuckled as Yao glared at him, though the Jack said nothing. “I’ll get properly dressed and then we’ll be at the dining area shortly."  
  


* * *

  
Arthur and Yao showed up fashionably late to the dining hall, both hoping it wasn’t in shambles already. To their relief, they were only met with a very familiar sight. On the table was an assortment of the royal couple’s favourite dishes, with Alfred’s favourites halfway done, courtesy of none other than America. He was seated at the head of the table - the King’s usual - table manners be damned as he babbled endlessly to Matthew with food in his mouth. As expected, Matthew was unfazed by the mess before him. Things looked so natural, and it pierced Arthur’s heart in a very fuzzy yet unpleasant way.  
  
“Hey, guys!” America suddenly called to them enthusiastically, waving a barbeque sauce-stained hand at Arthur and Yao. He at least used his napkin to wipe his hands and face, momentarily excusing himself to Matthew and the subjects surrounding them before jogging over to the Queen and Jack.  
  
The happy look on his face immediately dropped to one of desperation and fear. “Dude’s on to me!”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Arthur asked incredulously, looking over America’s shoulder and at Matthew, who was conversing with one of the bashful chefs, gesturing at the food, most likely offering praise. Arthur looked back to America. “He looks fine. What’d you say to him?”  
  
“That’s the thing! I think it’s what I _don’t_ say to him.” America explained in a panicked whisper. “He keeps talking about things that Alfred’s s’pposed to know and I’ve been switching the subject for the last hour.”  
  
Yao then looked to Matthew as well, who was now staring at the trio, looking confused but mostly patient. He smiled when he locked eyes with Yao, waving sweetly. The guy looked innocent enough. Yao squinted at America. “How did you deduce that he’s on to you?”  
  
America frowned.“He’s my brother’s counterpart.” Arthur and Yao exchanged a look that went unnoticed by the frantic man. “Trust me, I know this guy. Well, not _this_ one, but close enough.”  
  
Arthur sighed and placed a hand on America’s shoulder. “Alright, just follow our lead and calm down. Act normal.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“Oh, for the love of- just do it!”  
  
America didn’t really have a choice when Arthur pushed him to turn around, forcing him to quickly put on a happy and eased facade as the Queen practically dragged him back to his seat. Arthur occupied the space across from Matthew and on America’s right whilst Yao flanked the Queen. Arthur and Yao then carried the conversation with Matthew from then on, filling him in on the happenings throughout the week and doing all they could to steal his attention away from the uncomfortable America, who clearly wanted to get out of the room already but just couldn’t stop himself from eating. While it was their intention to let Matthew know about what had happened to Alfred exactly, they decided that it would probably best to have a one-on-one talk with him instead, and certainly not in an area where their subjects were within reach.  
  


For the most part, things were going rather smoothly.  
  
“Sorry if this is a little invasive, Al,” Matthew began, putting a little more food on his plate and turning to America, “but why were you in to the forest in the first place? I thought you were scared of that place.”  
  
Until things weren’t, and Arthur coughed violently as he choked on his fish while Alfred started sipping his glass of juice in a painstakingly slow pace, trying to act nonchalant. Yao only slapped his face while Matthew sat there, concerned about his the King and Queen. “M-my, Matthew, are you trying to grow your hair longer?” Arthur tried sputtering out after barely managing to swallow down his food, gesturing at Matthew’s face with his fork. “It’s starting to look a lot like that frog’s but, erm, better.”  
  
“Uh…” Matthew eyed America, who was still downing his juice. With a sigh, he turned back to Arthur and offered a small smile. He was always too sweet for his own good. “I haven’t cut it in a while, that’s all. Does it...actually look like Francis’?”  
  
“Ah, yes. O-Only a little bit. Do you plan on cutting it soon?”  
  
“I think so. It’s getting warmer, after all.”  
  
“Oh yes, that’s true. We can arrange for it to take place next week. Would that be alright with you?”  
  
“Just whenever it’s convenient for you.”  
  
“Lovely, then we’ll…”   
  
America and Yao shared a breath of relief as Arthur managed to lead the conversation elsewhere despite its rocky beginning, and America was able to resume his meal and evade all of Matthew’s questions with the more aggressive aid of Arthur and Yao, unbeknownst to him that their precautions were not for his sake. America finished up before everyone else eventually, rushing out as fast as he could whilst yelling something about indigestion.  
  
Matthew frowned at the dining hall door where America had gone into, quickly forgetting about his food.  
  
“Are...you finished eating?” Yao asked him cautiously, setting down his own utensils. Matthew seemed to be in a gloomier disposition now that Alfred was gone. “Are you alright?”  
  
Matthew looked at him with a smile, though the concern behind his eyes were very telling of how he truly felt. “Ah, no, I’m still eating. And everything’s…” he paused, seemingly distracted, “everything’s fine.” He picked up his utensils and pierced a small carrot, raising it to his lips, but never really consuming it.  
  
Arthur felt Yao nudge his foot beneath the table, and he shot the Jack a look when Matthew’s attention was directed to the door once again. Arthur sighed and wiped the sides of his mouth clean with a napkin before leaning towards his brother-in-law over the table. “Matthew?”  
  
“Yeah?” Matthew continued staring at the door, mind wandering elsewhere, carrot still raised to his lips.  
  
“Do you mind if we talk in my study after this meal? Alone?”  
  
Matthew finally turned to face Arthur, a little stunned. It had been a while since they’d had a private conversation, and their prior ones had never taken place so late in the afternoon. Matthew saw that Arthur was positively earnest, and he looked to Yao, who had the same urging look in his amber eyes as Arthur. This must have been serious.  
  
“Of course, your Highness.”  
  
The rest of the meal was quiet after that, the air becoming so thick with something akin to suspense that Arthur nearly lost his appetite. They eventually finished, expressing their gratitude to the servitors and chefs for their services before travelling back to the palace’s private halls, the thickness from the dining hall never leaving the three of them. When they finally reached Arthur’s study, Yao did not stay for too long and merely served them some tea before bowing, excusing himself and leaving the Queen and his brother-in-law alone in silence.  
  
“There’s something wrong with Alfred, isn’t there?”  
  
Arthur choked on his tea (finding that he had been choking on many things as of late), not expecting Matthew to just spring that question up on him like that. Normally they would have a nice little chat before getting straight into it. “Why...why do you ask that?” he managed, patting his lips dry with his handkerchief.  
  
“I don’t know, he’s acting weird.” Matthew took a sip of his own tea before mumbling out a shy, “You and Yao have been, too, actually.” He chuckled gently at Arthur’s teasing glare, though his fidgeting revealed his unease. “But mainly Alfred. He seems a little confused.”  
  
Arthur snorted. “The git’s always confused.”  
  
Matthew smiled, though it left as quickly as it came. “It’s like he’s keeping something from me, that’s all. Not that I want to pry if it’s a private matter, of course. I’m just worried for him.” He gazed down at his teacup. “For all of you.”  
  
Arthur pursed his lips and nodded in understanding. He understood Matthew’s sentiments completely, and he was touched by his concern. “Well then.” Arthur started, and by a stroke of luck, he didn’t feel like crying too much. “Then I believe I ought to preface this by letting you know that you are not, in fact, worried for Alfred.”  
  
Matthew’s eyebrows furrowed as he pushed his glasses up on his nose, leaning closer. “What do you mean?”  
  
“You’re worrying about America, Alfred’s alternate self.”  
  
Naturally, Arthur was only met with even more confusion, and so he began telling Matthew everything in great detail, beginning with Alfred’s mysterious promise to him the night before his disappearance, promising that he was going to be back ‘real soon’ and that he shouldn’t wait up for him, sealing it with a chase kiss on the corner of Arthur’s lips. Being too tired, Arthur had let him be, not expecting to wake up to a frantic Yao and an empty bed. Only hours later did some fairies appear to Arthur and let him know that they had found the young King in the Forest of Lost Mavericks, unconscious. True to their word, the fairies had led the Queen to his King’s body, who was uninjured but barely had any life left in him.  
  
Arthur confessed to Matthew how terrifying the last week had been, with uncertainty looming over them and weighing him down, because truly no one - not even the many medics and magicians they had consulted - had ever come across such a case as Alfred’s. The only conclusion they had come to was that he had been struck by some sort of powerful magic and that his best bet was healing, which Arthur took upon himself despite the life and energy it sucked from him. But he knew in his heart that it was just right, because he was willing to do everything to have Alfred back.  
  
Then, Alfred had awoken that day, and Arthur recounted how ecstatic he had been and how he had greeted Alfred in the way he would have adored despite Arthur’s own fatigue and body pains. But all Arthur received was a look of sheer confusion and profanities, as if he were some sort of stranger to his own husband. Arthur described the look in Alfred’s eyes to Matthew - the look of unlove and how terrible it was and how Alfred definitely didn’t look at him that way, not in a long time.  
  
And Matthew, bless his soul, listened to Arthur’s words with great heed, barely even blinking throughout it all, even during the retelling of the very frustrating event of convincing America that it wasn’t a prank. There was this unreadable expression on Matthew’s face that barely wavered; it looked to be one of great pain and heavy contemplation. By the time Arthur’s story was all over, the usual pink flush in Matthew’s cheeks was gone almost completely, and his eyes were as wide as saucers. His fidgeting had gone down significantly, but he didn't appear to be settled at all.  
  
Arthur frowned. “I know it sounds unbelievable, and I understand completely if you don’t believe it.”  
  
Matthew jumped. “No, I-I do.” He said, voice small. “You’ve never lied to me and, well, it...it sort of makes sense. This is just a lot to...to take in.” Matthew inhaled shakily as he squeezed his eyes shut, his forehead creased in worry. Arthur felt horrible for putting Matthew in such an unsettled state, but he knew more than anyone that Alfred’s brother deserved an explanation.  
  
Matthew was quiet for a couple more moments. “How do we switch them back?”  
  
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Arthur croaked, though he was admittedly relieved that Matthew was easier to work with.  
  
But he also looked very afraid of that answer he had just received, and Arthur knew he should have kept his mouth shut.  
  
“But we’ll find a way. I _know_ there’s to be a way. We’ll get Alfred back.”  
  
Matthew looked up at Arthur as a flicker of hope lit up in his eyes from that confident reassurance. Arthur forced himself to smile at Matthew, hoping the latter wouldn’t sense his insecurity and gut-wrenching guilt from releasing those uncertain words of his, and he cursed himself for sounding so sure, because he _wasn’t_ .  
  
Arthur sighed and tried pushing away his mother’s voice telling him, _‘Arthur, never make a promise that you’re unsure you can keep, and this includes promises you make to yourself’_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW! I couldn't resist myself and had to put some little flufferinos. I hope you all enjoyed. :) Thank you for reading! Chapter 5's really when things start getting *fun*
> 
> P.S. The 20-chapter expectation is based on my outline and may change just in case the chapters get too lengthy and have to be divided.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support! I appreciate everything. <3


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